


Other People's Tragedies

by Zai42



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Decisions, Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Choking, Collars, Gags, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Miscommunication, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Object Insertion, Pining, Rescue Missions, Sexual Slavery, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24973426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/pseuds/Zai42
Summary: There was something almost refreshing about it. Kidnappers at large, with no connection to the looming disaster, in it only for the love of the profession. It would be charming if it were not so terrible.
Relationships: Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam/Oscar Wilde, The London and Other London Outstanding Mercenary Group | LOLOMG & Oscar Wilde
Comments: 20
Kudos: 60





	Other People's Tragedies

**Author's Note:**

> A note on the timeline: takes place post Damascus with everything shifted around a bit. No Rome, because Rome is the worst.
> 
> Mind the tags, this one gets heavy. <3

Wilde had warned them about the kidnapping that had been happening in the area. “Kidnappings?” Grizzop asked, eyes narrowing. “Anything to do with...?” He gestured vaguely at his wrists.

Wilde touched his own wrist, mouth twisting wryly. “Not as far as I can tell,” he said. “Nothing to do with anything, in fact. They’re good old-fashioned kidnappers, Grizzop, in it for the love of the profession.”

Grizzop rolled his eyes. “Never hurts to ask,” he said. “Don’t want you going all damsel in distress again.”

Wilde smiled, and while his eyes were still smudged with bruise-dark shadows, it had a hint of his old charm to it that had been conspicuously absent since Grizzop had found him laid out on his office floor. The L.O.L.O.M.G. had fled Damascus shortly afterwards, Wilde in tow, to lie low in a tiny village to the north and regroup. It had been a tense and uncomfortable week, for many reasons, and now the plan was to leave again, keep off the radar, try to make it to Japan without being discovered. They would be reconvening with Wilde in a few days, a fact that Grizzop, in his newly protective irritation with Wilde, had already objected to and subsequently begrudgingly agreed was probably the best course of action. “I’m flattered,” Wilde said, in response to Grizzop’s comment. “It’s always nice to know you care.”

“Uh-huh. We allowed to skewer them if we see ‘em?”

“I do love it when you skewer things,” Wilde replied. “If you get the opportunity, feel free, but don’t go out of your way. It’s under investigation, so no need to worry yourselves. Just be cautious.”

So it was caution, when Grizzop doubled back to cover their tracks - caution when he went alone, while Sasha stayed behind to set up traps around the perimeter of their little camp. (Thinking about it, afterwards, he couldn’t bring himself to regret that Sasha had stayed behind. The thought of anything happening to her in his place made him ill.)

Covering their tracks was simple enough. Even Azu, easily the most conspicuous of the four of them, was graceful enough not to cause any real problems. Grizzop was kicking away one of her footprints when he heard the telltale snapping of underbrush off to his left. He nocked an arrow, aimed it in the direction of the commotion, and waited, motionless, in the green shadows of the undergrowth.

The person who stumbled into Grizzop’s clearing was not what he was expecting. He was stick-thin and pale, unhealthily so, like Sasha beneath the smattering of freckles she got with enough sun. Perhaps that was why Grizzop loosed his arrow too far to the left, to thud into a tree over the stranger’s shoulder instead of sinking into the meat of it. He jolted and whirled around, and Grizzop stepped into the low evening light, bow still drawn but aimed now at the ground. “Who’re you?” he demanded.

Now that he could get a good look at the intruder, Grizzop could see he was older than he’d thought, a day’s worth of stubble covering his jaw, not enough yet to hide the delicate, waifish fairness of his features. For a moment he peered suspiciously at Grizzop. “You’re a paladin of Artemis,” he said. He took an aborted step forward, then stopped, his eyes flickering to Grizzop’s bow.

“Yeah,” Grizzop said. “Who - ”

“Then you must help me!” the stranger said, his voice pitching suddenly with fear. “I was taken from my caravan by bandits, I only just managed to escape.”

Grizzop frowned. The stranger hardly seemed the sort to be targeted by bandits - his clothes were modest, unadorned with anything valuable. Then again, Wilde hadn’t said what the kidnappers were _doing_ with the people they took, and perhaps the thieves had already taken anything worth money from him. Grizzop nodded in the direction of the road. “I have friends nearby,” he said. “We’ll regroup and bring you back to town in the morning.”

Grizzop started for the road and the stranger hurried after him. “Can’t you take me home now?” he asked, glancing around into the darkening woods around them.

“You just said there’s bandits on the road,” Grizzop said shortly. “And it’s getting dark.”

“Then wouldn’t it be better to go back to town?”

“Town’s farther away,” Grizzop said. “And I’m not about to leave without telling my friends where I’ve gone, that would be stupid. Just stick close and - ” Grizzop’s ears twitched; something was moving through the underbrush towards them, and quickly.

Grizzop whirled, bringing his bow up just in time to loose an arrow into the shoulder of the mountain of a man who had somehow crept up on him. The man snarled and lashed out, a long, wicked-looking dagger slashing through the space Grizzop had been seconds before. Behind him, Grizzop could hear the stranger he’d been accompanying stagger backwards, cursing. The mountain, meanwhile, lunged forwards again, and Grizzop danced backwards, catching the tip of the dagger along his cheek, a shallow cut that could have been much worse had he been even slightly slower. Behind him, the stranger cursed again, more fervently.

“You’re quick for a big guy,” Grizzop said, and aimed his bow between the mountain’s eyes. He grinned. “I’m quicker.”

Something wrapped around his throat, thin and tight and choking. Grizzop snarled and loosed his arrow, but was yanked backwards at the last second, sending it high into the night air. Grizzop struggled to light it, to make it burst into a holy flare that they would be able to see back at camp, but something, some dark and oppressive magic, smothered him, and the arrow was lost. The thing around his neck went slack, and Grizzop heaved in one gulp of air before throwing himself backwards, an arrow clutched in his fist like a dagger.

The stranger grabbed at him, at the collar locked around his neck, and Grizzop collapsed, muscles seizing, a startled cry rising in his throat as a wave of agony rolled through him. When it stopped, he panted on the forest floor, dazed.

“You stupid bastard,” the stranger was saying. He knelt by Grizzop’s head and flipped him onto his back, glaring down at him. His thumb pressed against the bleeding gash on his face. “That better not scar.” Grizzop lashed out, but the stranger caught his wrist and sent another pulse of magic through the collar around Grizzop’s throat, ignoring him as he screamed.

“The little molerat _shot me,”_ the mountain growled. He yanked the arrow from his shoulder and snapped it in half. “It’s lucky I don’t do worse than a little scratch.” He reached down and grabbed one of Grizzop’s ears, twisting and yanking him up onto his knees. Grizzop snarled at him, clawing at his wrist until he drew blood, to no reaction.

“And you won’t,” the stranger said sharply. “Not until we’re back to base, anyway. People will pay good money for a goblin paladin. Now hurry and tie it up, it says it has friends nearby.”

The mountain tossed Grizzop to the ground with a low, irritable growl; Grizzop scrambled to his feet and bolted into the trees. “Azu!” he called. “Hamid - _argh!”_ The collar had flared to life again, and Grizzop’s legs went out from under him, a wild shriek bursting from his chest, laced with pain and fury and the beginnings of fear. The stranger and the mountain had found him again, and Grizzop struggled in vain as he was gagged and bound and tossed over the mountain’s shoulder like a sack of grain.

“Stop _squirming,_ grub,” the mountain growled. Grizzop kicked him, hard, in the place where his arrow had sunk into him; the mountain dropped him, swearing.

“For gods’ sake, you useless oaf,” the stranger hissed. “We don’t have time for this.”

Grizzop wriggled onto his side just in time to see the stranger reach out and yank on his collar; pain erupted behind Grizzop’s eyes, and he sank into unconsciousness.

* * *

“We shouldn’t have let him go alone,” Azu murmured, eyes sweeping the ground. Off to her left, the faerie-fire glow of Hamid’s magic danced along the trees. “We shouldn’t be leaving _Sasha_ alone now,” she added, glancing over to double-check that Hamid was still within arm’s reach.

“Nobody will be able to find Sasha if she doesn’t want them to,” Hamid said. His voice was high and distracted, worry in his every syllable. “Someone needed to stay behind in case he went back to camp, if he...” He trailed off. “If he gets back before we find him,” he finished, firmly optimistic.

“Of course,” Azu said. “I’m sure he’s halfway back.”

“We’ll get an angry mobile stone call,” Hamid added. “Chiding us for worrying.”

“Any minute now.”

Hamid began to say something else, but something caught Azu’s eye. An arrow, tangled in the branches of a tree, pointing straight down towards the earth as if it had fallen from the sky. She tugged it free and rolled it between her fingers, the frown on her face deepening as she took in the sigil carved into the shaft. “Hamid,” she called, and held the arrow out, point down. “It was in the tree, like this,” she said. She watched Hamid’s expression go grim as he saw the crescent moon sigil. “Did you see a flare?”

“No,” Hamid said. He glanced around the trees, as if waiting for an answer to present itself. “We - ”

He was cut off then, by a faint sound, distant and carried to them on the night wind: _“Azu! Hamid!”_ Then a wordless cry. Then silence. For a moment, both of them stood, still as statues, afraid to move in case there was more; then Azu was charging towards the sound, axe-first, swiping foliage from her path, Hamid hot on her heels, half a spell already on his lips.

Azu skidded to a halt just before they made it back to the road, her heart thudding hard in her chest. Hamid nearly crashed into her. “What is it? Azu?” Azu pointed, her hand shaking, her mouth working around words that would not come, at the bow abandoned on the forest floor, at the arrow beside it, snapped in half and still wet with red blood. She went to her knees, gingerly picking up the bow and seeking out the symbol she already knew would be there.

“He - he must be - nearby,” Hamid said at her side, his voice pitched with feverish, desperate hope.

“He would not have left this,” Azu said.

“It isn’t his blood.”

“That’s what concerns me.” She stood, clasping Grizzop’s bow close to her heart. “We should get Sasha,” she said gravely. “And perhaps return to speak to Wilde about these kidnappings in more detail.”

* * *

There was something almost reassuring, Wilde thought privately, that even with the world balanced on the knife’s point, tipping incrementally closer to disaster with every passing hour - even now, people were horrible to each other in ways that had nothing to do with impending global disaster. People were only ever people, even in the darkest times. There was no reason to believe the kidnappings in the area had anything to do with any global conspiracies, self-replicating automatons, strange weather patterns - it would have been refreshing, if it weren’t so thoroughly horrific.

No one would have asked Wilde to look into the string of kidnappings. He had other things on his plate, and besides that, nobody knew he was here, aside from the staff at the local meritocratic office he had taken over, and they certainly weren’t about to give orders to _The_ Oscar Wilde. But it was late and silent and dark, he had nothing to do but wait for his contact to respond to him, and Wilde had never been one to waste a night, so he was awake and reading what bare-bones reports he could get his hands on with a deepening frown when his door was flung open.

“I tried to stop them,” said the night guard apologetically, but Wilde waved him off, sitting up straighter, making a quick headcount and feeling his stomach drop like a stone.

“Where - ” Wilde began, and was cut off by Azu, Sasha, and Hamid all immediately speaking over each other. “Would you please - _one at a time!_ Where is Grizzop?”

“Gone,” Azu said, and placed the bow she had been holding on Wilde’s desk.

Wilde picked it up delicately, as if it were as likely to snap at him as its owner. “How?” he asked. He turned the bow over in his hands, thumbing over the crescent symbol carved into it as if in a dream. He had so much experience with terrible dreams, now.

“I hardly think that matters now,” Azu replied. “We need to get him back.”

The reports burned like a brand beneath Wilde’s palm. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, that should be our priority.”

* * *

Grizzop didn’t move when he woke, lying still and keeping his breathing even. The collar was still locked around his throat, a razor-wire weight he was already deeply sick of; his gear and armor had been taken, and he’d been dressed in loose-fitting linen trousers, his chest bare. The collar felt hot and heavier than it should, thin as it was; perhaps it was only Grizzop’s imagination.

There were cool hands prodding the cut beneath his eye, smearing something medicinal-smelling over it. “Won’t scar,” a voice said. “Got a busted nose, though. Can’t fix that, it set funny.” A short bark of a laugh. “Maybe some rich eccentric will think it’s _dashing.”_

“Better hope so,” said a voice Grizzop recognized as the stranger’s. “Get the gag in before it wakes up.”

Grizzop forced himself to keep feigning sleep, though it took some effort to choke back an irritated growl. He waited until he felt a hand slip beneath his head, lifting him off the table, felt fingers prying open his mouth - then he bit down as hard as he could, a wild snarl in his throat, eyes snapping open.

The woman he’d bitten shrieked and wrenched her bloodied hand away, eyes blazing with murderous intent; Grizzop launched himself at the stranger, intending to strangle him before he could activate the collar. His hands closed around the stranger’s throat; he clung tight as they crashed to the floor in a tangle of flailing limbs; the stranger sputtered uselessly beneath him, and reached up to hook his fingers beneath Grizzop’s collar. It flared to life, a hot stabbing agony lancing up Grizzop’s spine. He writhed as the woman dragged him off her companion, leaving him in a heap on the floor and pulling the stranger to his feet.

“Price, you _stupid - ”_

“Shut up.”   
The stranger - Price - knelt beside Grizzop, yanked his head back, and shoved a gag into his mouth, metal hooking tightly behind his teeth, holding his jaw open. Grizzop glared furiously, his breath coming in rapid heaves, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of pain. Price tapped pointedly at the collar. “I could keep that going,” he snarled, his delicate features distorted in an ugly scowl. “Wanna see how long it takes before your brain melts out of those ears of yours? I’m a patient man” - Grizzop snorted - “but I have my _limits.”_

Above them, the woman was scrubbing at her hand, rubbing medicine into the puncture marks. “Better not get infected,” she grumbled. “You don’t pay me enough for this, Price. I could’ve gone to be a healer in town and none of those fools would bite - ”

“Shut _up,_ Nettie,” Price snapped. He stood, kicked Grizzop hard in the ribs, left him to retch. “Feel free to strike out on your own. What a healer you’d make, can’t cast a spell to save your own hide.”

For a moment, Grizzop thought Nettie might argue, might keep Price distracted long enough for Grizzop to make a break for it - he was still unbound, if they fought intensely enough he could maybe slip away before Price zapped him - but instead she snorted and turned away, gathering up her healing supplies while Price turned back to Grizzop.

“You’re not gonna make this easy on me,” Price muttered, and picked up a pair of shackles from the nearby table. He tossed them at Grizzop and they twisted, writhed, came to life in midair, slipping out of Grizzop’s grasp like serpents to lock into place around his wrists and ankles, yanking themselves tighter and tighter until Grizzop overbalanced. He struggled to glare, aware that he must look truly pathetic, trussed up with his jaw forced open wide; still, he focused every searing scrap of his anger in Price’s direction, hoping, distantly, that it might be enough to make him drop dead.

No such luck. Price loomed over Grizzop, mouth set in a humorless twist. He nudged Grizzop onto his back with the toe of his boot and tilted his head in contemplation. “You almost look cute like this,” he said, and sank into a squat. “Can’t say I can see the appeal of your kind, but I’m sure I can find a buyer. Once we’ve broken you in a bit, anyway.” He reached out and shoved three fingers into Grizzop’s open mouth, pressing hard against his tongue and forcing his way deep into his throat, until Grizzop was gagging and drooling around his hand, tears springing to his eyes, an angry flush high on his cheeks. The metal of the gag rang against his teeth as he tried to bite down, a high, grinding ache.

Price pulled his hand away, wiping the saliva off on Grizzop’s cheek; Grizzop coughed and sputtered, spine arching like a defensive cat’s. He was vaguely aware of Nettie and Price sniping at each other above him, then Nettie stepped over him to sweep out of the room, and Price hooked a finger beneath Grizzop’s collar to pull him up onto his feet. Grizzop ground his jaw against the gag, imagined snapping it and biting the digits off Price’s hand, pictured him with an arrow through his neck. He was shivering with pent-up fury, but Price didn't seem to notice.

“You’ve met Irvin,” Price said as he dragged Grizzop down a winding series of hallways. Grizzop memorized the turns they look, counted windows and doors, squirreled information away for later. For when - not if - he escaped. “But I think it’s time you’re properly introduced. He’s been just dying to get started working on you.”

The door Price opened was hidden behind a bookshelf - Grizzop scanned the titles, committing three to memory, just in case. Behind it was a dank, uneven staircase leading down into what looked to be a disused root cellar, the walls stone and packed dirt, and mostly empty except for an ominous tool chest in one corner and the mountain man Grizzop had shot standing in the center, arms crossed, face impatient. “Took you long enough,” he said.

The boot between Grizzop’s shoulderblades caught him off-guard, but he refused to fall, just barely catching himself and making it down the stairs under his own power. The mountain - Irvin - looked disappointed. Grizzop cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Surprised you didn’t hear Nettie howling, even in here,” Price said. “Watch the mouth on that one. Stubborn little fuck.”

“You’ve said that before,” Irvin replied. “Now fuck off. I’ve got work to do.”

* * *

“You should sleep, Sasha,” Azu said quietly.

Night had fallen again. Hamid and Wilde had gone - information gathering, they had called it. Meritocratic entanglements to smooth over. Nothing Sasha cared about particularly, but something that people insisted was important.

“Not tired,” Sasha said, and felt a pang of guilt at the sad exhaustion in Azu’s expression. Sasha had settled herself on the window seat in Wilde’s office and was staring out into the night; she had been sharpening her knives, but they had long ago been honed to glowing edges and tucked away. “I don’t want to _be_ here,” she said, when Azu persisted in hovering nearby, looking morose. “We haven’t got time for” - she waved a hand around the paperwork strewn on the desk, the office at large - “for this. He’s been gone for a _day.”_

“Wilde said he was in contact with people who can help,” Azu replied. She sat gingerly at Sasha’s feet. “We have to be...patient.”

Sasha snorted. “We haven’t got time,” she said again, hugging her knees up beneath her chin. “Grizzop wouldn’t be patient if it’d been us.”

“Perhaps he’s already escaped,” Azu said. When Sasha only mumbled sullenly, she said, “We will find him, Sasha. Wilde will find out where he’s being kept and we will rescue him.”

Sasha said nothing. Azu’s optimism, while tempting, rubbed up against everything Sasha knew about what happened to people who disappeared. Maybe sometimes they were found and saved before anything terrible could happen to them, but Sasha suspected that was not often. More likely they were simply gone forever, their fates uncertain except for the uncomfortable knowledge that they were sure to be unpleasant at the best.

This, at least, was the same in Other London as it was everywhere.

“Yeah,” she said, instead of voicing any of this. “Sure.”

* * *

They were lucky. The agents in charge of ending the kidnappings were planning a sting operation in a week. “It has to be sooner,” Wilde said. “We do not have a week.”

“We have been planning this for months,” replied the woman in charge of the operation, a relatively young human by the name of Laila. She was the highest ranking officer in the village, which wasn’t saying much. From what Wilde could tell, she mostly handled local business, and the kidnapping case was the most thrilling local business of the past decade. “My people won’t be ready for another week at the earliest - ”

“My people are ready _now,”_ Wilde insisted, leaning forward urgently. “Please,” he added, desperately genuine. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hamid glance at him, eyebrows raised. “This is a matter of life and death, please, let us carry out this mission.”

Laila eyed him suspiciously. “You’re not just trying to make a good name for yourself - ” she began.

“We _hardly_ need to do that,” Hamid said, voice dripping with imperiousness and a slow-simmering irritation. “I assure you, your work will get the credit it deserves. We aren’t in this for glory.”

“I am asking because we need the information you’ve gathered,” Wilde said. “If you aren’t willing to cooperate, I cannot promise we won’t do this without you.”

Laila glanced between the two of them, brows furrowed, then sighed heavily. “All right. Just don’t screw this up, all right? I don’t want to be chasing these bastards for another six months.”

Wilde thought of Grizzop, clever and bright, healing him as he had laid insensate on his office floor. Of the unspoken whatever-it-was that had been hovering between them ever since fleeing Damascus. He thought of the people who had taken him escaping.

“You have my word,” he said, “that they will be in your custody or dead when this is over.”

* * *

Irvin left Grizzop standing at the base of the stairs, turning his back to rummage through the tool chest. For a moment Grizzop watched him suspiciously, expecting him to turn around at any second; instead, he ignored him completely. Cautiously, doing his best not to rattle his chains, Grizzop crept around the periphery of the cellar, testing the walls for loose stones, calculating whether or not he’d be able to scramble up and out the one window, high on the far wall.

Irvin still hadn’t turned, apparently engrossed in his tool chest. Grizzop threw caution to the wind and inched back towards the stairs. He was no Sasha, certainly, but if he could just get a look at the door’s lock, learn how it clicked together -

He made it halfway up the stairs when the collar went off, sudden and sharp. This time he did tumble down the stairs, landing in a heap at Irvin’s feet.

However the collar was controlled, Irvin had a heavier hand than Price did, and let the horrible, lancing agony play out for longer, until Grizzop lost the breath to keep screaming. When it finally stopped, Grizzop curled around himself, trying to catch his breath.

“There’s your first lesson, molerat,” Irvin said. He sank into a squat next to Grizzop, tilted his head up with the leather loop of a riding crop nudging beneath his chin. “Stay where you’re put.” Grizzop jerked his head away, glaring. Irvin smiled at him with a sweetness that didn’t reach his eyes. “Up you get.”

He hauled Grizzop to his feet by the scruff of his neck, shoving him in the direction of the tool chest. Grizzop stumbled, his legs unsteady after the collar’s relentless onslaught, and fell to his knees, expecting Irvin to shout or maybe throw something at him.

Instead he sighed, all play-acted sympathy, a thick thread of sadism undercutting the long-suffering patience in his tone. “Poor little thing,” he said, and planted his boot in the middle of Grizzop’s back, bearing down on him. Grizzop braced on his hands, arms trembling, and for a moment they were at a stalemate; Grizzop sensed Irvin’s impatience just a half-second before the boot on his back lifted and came down, hard, between his shoulder blades, finally sending him crashing to the floor with a yelp.

“This could be so easy,” Irvin said; Grizzop gasped for air beneath his boot, aching from his collarbone to his hips, crushed against the slate floor. “Just _behave,”_ Irvin continued, grinding his heel. “It’s all going to end the same, anyway. Surely even you can understand that?” Grizzop’s arms were pinned beneath him, but he wriggled one just free enough for Irvin to see the rude gesture he was making. “You never do,” Irvin sighed, and jerked Grizzop back to his feet, spinning him dizzily.

Irvin settled himself on his toolbox, one hand holding the back of Grizzop’s head, tilting him towards the light. He pressed one thick finger into Grizzop’s mouth, but rather than shoving it down his throat as Price had, he ran it along Grizzop’s teeth, counting under his breath. Grizzop seethed. When he was finished, Irvin pressed the pad of his thumb against Grizzop’s tongue, then along his gums, humming quietly in apparent approval.

“All right,” Irvin said, letting go of Grizzop and watching indulgently as he pulled away and gagged. “On your knees, molerat.”

Grizzop fixed him with his most withering glare, every line in his body taut in defiance, and lifted his chin. _Make me._

Slowly, Irvin hauled his heft off the toolbox, a rancid grin playing over his features. “Oh, all right,” he said. “If you insist.”

When the collar went off, Grizzop was braced for it; he screamed and staggered, but refused to fall, instead doubling over and locking his legs, his body jolting as pain ran through it. He heard Irvin let out a snort of a laugh. “Stubborn,” he said, and swung his riding crop with a backhanded swing, catching Grizzop across the face with a crack that echoed off the walls.

Still, Grizzop kept his feet, tilting his head to glare at Irvin even as he was wracked with wild shudders. Irvin, for his part, seemed first surprised, then annoyed that Grizzop remained standing; he stormed over and, his fingers digging into Grizzop’s scalp, kicked his legs out from under him, finally sending Grizzop to his knees, holding him in place with an iron grip. The collar’s magic still spiraled through Grizzop, sinking its hooks into his tendons, making his muscles seize and his vision swim.

When the pain stopped, Grizzop sagged in Irvin’s grip. He could hear Irvin speaking - something condescending, no doubt - but he ignored him, letting his eyes close. His limbs were cramping, both from being bound in place and from clenching in pain; the cuffs around his wrists and ankles felt tighter than before, like they had constricted to give him less room to struggle; the wet-blanket heaviness smothering his connection with Artemis was ever-present - not painful but a constant irritant - a catch in his throat, a mote in his eye, an absence he could not ignore.

Irvin was touching his mouth again, one thumb hooked behind his lower teeth. “Get the feeling you’re not listening to me,” he rumbled, and then he was jerking Grizzop forward, one hand pushing hard on the back of his head, and Grizzop’s eyes flew open as he realized what was happening.

Irvin’s cock was mostly soft as he forced it into Grizzop’s mouth, twitching to life but not yet heavy and full. Grizzop let out an indignant cry and tried to jerk back, but Irvin held him firmly in place, both hands shifting to bracket his face, forcing him down onto his lap. The hard leather handle of the riding crop bit into Grizzop’s cheek. “You don’t have to make this difficult,” Irvin crooned, a lilt to his tone that suggested he would be delighted if Grizzop did insist on making things difficult, in fact - Grizzop realized with a shudder that the prick in his mouth pulsed with interest every time he struggled.

So, he went still. His teeth gnashed against his gag and he met Irvin’s gaze with black-ice hatred in his eyes, but he didn’t struggle, refused to be the helpless toy Irvin so clearly enjoyed having in his grasp. “You _can_ learn,” Irvin said gleefully, and set the collar off again, laughing as Grizzop choked around his cock.

Grizzop collapsed, his body hot and oversensitive and twitching with pain; Irvin followed him, easing up on the collar but closing one meaty hand around his throat and squeezing as he began to fuck Grizzop’s face against the floor. “You’ll understand,” he growled. “You put up a good fight for a squirmy little molerat, but you’ll fucking learn.”

Black spots blossomed lazily in Grizzop’s vision. Irvin was fully erect in his mouth, now, pressing hard against his soft palate; the hand at his throat was tight and growing tighter; he couldn’t even gag properly, too little air for it. He just made a small, choked-off noise, saliva drooling from the corners of his mouth, his mind screaming for oxygen.

“This is what you’re _for,_ now,” Irvin was saying, somewhere in the distant stars above him. “Sooner you get that through your thick skull, the better.”

The pressure at his throat lifted; Grizzop groaned wetly around Irvin’s cock, still sliding slick and hot into his mouth, tasting of salt and skin and sweat. Grizzop’s teeth ached from trying to bite through his gag. His head swam and his throat hurt and Irvin’s knee was digging into one of his biceps, and Grizzop wished absently that he’d aimed lower when he had shot Irvin back in the clearing.

The first spurt of come hit the back of Grizzop’s throat and he gagged, trying to cough it up; Irvin pinched his nose shut. “Swallow, or you drown in it,” he snarled, rolling his hips to keep Grizzop pinned against the floor.

Fuming, envisioning Irvin pin-cushioned and choking on his own blood, Grizzop swallowed. 

* * *

“This is a terrible plan,” Hamid said, not for the first time. "You should at least let me come with you, Oscar, if you go alone - ”

“An agent of the meritocracy would not make engaging in trafficking a group outing,” Wilde replied grimly. “And I need you to be with Sasha. We don’t have a margin of error for this.”

A pallor had settled over Wilde’s office. They had been given every minute scrap of information on the (and here Azu shuddered) _slaving ring_ that was available - maps, transactions, names, dates. The plan Wilde’s colleagues had come up with had needed adjusting to account for the different skill set they would be working with - the smaller party - the high profile that Wilde presented. It would work. If it went perfectly, it would work.

“Will you take the mobile stone, at least?” Hamid was asking. His hair was in wild disarray, disturbed from its usual coif from how many times he had run his hands through it in agitation.

“You won’t be able to contact me,” Wilde said. He was leaning against his desk, eyes closed, a hand at his temple and his mouth twisted in a frown. Behind him, Sasha was staring at the map pinned to the wall like a cat staring down its prey, motionless but for her eyes, roving over room plans and points of entry. “It won’t work until the anti-magic wards are down, which is why I need you and Sasha together in the first place. And even if it _did_ work, you couldn’t call me without breaking my cover.”

“It’s all right, Hamid,” Sasha said suddenly. She had a dagger in her hand; Azu wasn’t certain when it had gotten there. “We’ll be quick. I can get you in and out before Wilde has a chance to get himself in trouble.” There was a harsh set to her jaw; she didn’t turn as she spoke, eyes still glued to the map. “Long as you take care of the spells and all.”

Hamid sighed heavily, cast his eyes down to the crumpled parchment in his hand, the complex sprawl of magical equations and lists of potential enchantments. “Yes,” he said weakly. “I - it shouldn’t be a problem, I just...” Another sigh.

Another round of debate picked up; Azu moved away to the window, her thumb sliding over the blade of her axe, testing its edge. The moon was fat and low in the sky, still gold, not yet cooled to silver, only the tiniest slice away from full. Azu ran her thumb over her axe again, less to feel its sharpness and more to feel the blessings that had been sunk into it, soft and sure and warm.

Grizzop’s bow had felt different in her hand. Cold and sharp, but just as sure.

_I know I am not yours,_ Azu thought, watching a cloud drift lazily over the face of the moon. _I’m not quite suited to it. But, Lady Artemis, if I could have your favor in this hunt. For his sake. Please._

There was no answer, but Azu hadn’t been expecting one, and turned back to the room as Wilde began to go over the plan once again.

* * *

Grizzop lay panting on the stone floor where Irvin had left him. All of him ached, and beneath it he burned, rage pumping in his veins with his blood, hot and visceral. Irvin was at his tool bench, humming something jaunty.

The door at the top of the stairs opened and Price’s voice called out, “Still alive, Irvin? Training going well?”

“Progress takes time,” Irvin called back, and stepped over Grizzop to greet Price at the base of the stairs. “Got ourselves a stubborn little molerat.”

“Mmm.” Price glanced around Irvin, his eyes dispassionate as he took in Grizzop’s state. “Well, we’ve an interested party, so you’re going to have to step it up.”

Grizzop tried not to perk up; either way, neither Price nor Irvin paid him any mind as he strained to listen in.

“You’re kidding,” Irvin said, snorting. “Who?”

“Some high-up in the meritocracy. Didn’t want to give their name in a letter but they’re good for the cash. Said they wanted a goblin specifically. I’m telling you, they’re all messed in the head - bunch of creeps, the lot of them.” Price let out a humorless bark. “Suppose that makes us the backbone of the gods damned meritocracy.”

He glanced over Irvin’s shoulder again, caught Grizzop’s gaze and smiled like a knife. “Hear that, did you? Be good and you can be sucking meritocrat cock in two days.” He turned his attention back to Irvin. “Two days’ time, I want that thing properly housebroken, got it? Don’t fuck this one up.”

And with that, he shoved a bag into Irvin’s arms, turned on his heel, and stalked up the stairs.

Grizzop watched Irvin watch him go, watched the slow unstraightening of his spine as the door closed, heard the low snarl of annoyance in the breath he released as he turned around. “Get up,” Irvin snapped, and dragged Grizzop up to his knees before he had a chance to comply. Grizzop was tugged over to the tool bench and clipped to it with a length of rope around his collar; then Irvin reached behind him to undo his gag, peeling it away while carefully avoiding Grizzop’s mouth.

Grizzop coughed, stretching out his jaw; Irvin shoved a heel of bread at him, and Grizzop glared. “No,” he said. His voice was rough around the edges. Irvin arched an eyebrow. “Not eating anything you give me.”

“You aren’t in a position to bargain,” Irvin snapped.

“I’m not bargaining, I’m just not eating. Don’t be stupid. Is that why Price makes you stay in the basement, because you’re a bloody idiot?”

Grizzop was expecting the backhand and bent forward to mitigate the worst of it, giving his head one sharp shake as Irvin glowered down at him. “Don’t bruise the merchandise,” Grizzop said, and bared his teeth in a wide grin. “Wouldn’t want to give damaged goods to your meritocr - ”

There was no real bracing for the damned collar. Even expecting it, Grizzop seized, cutting himself off with a shriek. He had the presence of mind to grab hold of the rope to keep from strangling himself if he fell; Irvin eased up before he did, eyes narrowing and Grizzop smirked up at him. “I don’t know what you think is happening here - ”

“Just making your life difficult,” Grizzop said, voice gasping and doggedly glib.

“Making your own life difficult,” Irvin snapped. He paused, an expression crossing his face that suggested he had just realized what he was doing - who he was arguing with - his mouth puckering like he’d bitten into a lemon. “Suit yourself,” he said. “Not my problem if you insist on being sent to bed with no supper.” He turned and started towards the stairs, then paused, considering. “No,” he muttered, more to himself than to Grizzop. “You’ll give me trouble.”

He returned to Grizzop’s side and removed the rope leash, heaving Grizzop up with one fist closed high on a bicep, pulling him over towards the tool chest. Grizzop felt his stomach lurch; he kept resolutely quiet.

Grizzop had been expecting one of two things: an unpleasant assortment of torture devices, or some kind of magical prison built into the chest. The first was in evidence - everything from elaborate bindings to scalpels to the damned riding crop from earlier laid out in perfect order on the table next to the chest. The second, when Irvin opened the chest, was pointedly not. “What are you doing?” Grizzop asked, careful to keep the creeping trepidation from his tone. Still, he didn’t manage to sound quite as flippantly impatient as he had been hoping.

Irvin didn’t answer him, instead hauling him up and into the chest with one brutal movement, Grizzop’s arm screaming in its socket. Grizzop hit his back with enough force to wind him briefly, and surged up too slowly to catch the lid before it slammed shut. “Wait!”

He hated it, the sharp note of panic that touched his tone; not enough to keep from pounding on the lid of his prison. It was closer to the end of his nose than he’d have liked. “You’re just gonna suffocate me?” he called. He could hear a heavy lock clunking shut. _No, no, no._ “You aren’t supposed to fuck this one up!”

Something near his head shifted, and a panel opened above him. Not much. Irvin could maybe fit one fat finger through the opening it left. But there was air, and a thin light source. Grizzop stared at it, spine rigid, trying to force his breathing to slow.

“Never thought I’d meet a little molerat who’d get so panicky about a tight fit,” Irvin said, his voice distant through the thick wood of the chest. “Usually it’s the people who aren’t fond of it in there.”

Grizzop refocused his eyes on the underside of the lid. There were scratch marks in it. Beneath the fog of fear, he felt a new thread of righteous anger weave itself into his resolve to kill everyone in this damned house, and whichever sleazy fool of a meritocratic agent was stupid enough to try and buy him.

* * *

Oscar Wilde could be patient, when it was called for. That didn’t mean he had to like it. Decrypting the letter had been easy; he read it once, twice, three times in rapid succession before speaking, his voice quiet, tinged with tight irritation. “We’ll meet in two days,” he said simply, and was met, as expected, with indignant protests. “If I press him to meet sooner, I could tip our hand,” Wilde said, pressing hard against his eyes. “We have to wait.”

“How do we know Grizzop will still _be there_ in two days?” Hamid demanded, his voice pitching frantically upwards.

“Because Grizzop is stubborn,” Wilde snapped. “They’re going to want - gods above - they’re going to want him _trained,_ and we - we have to trust that Grizzop won’t be.” He sagged against his desk, the bowstring-tight tension bleeding away and leaving him feeling drained. “I’m sorry,” he said, unable to bring himself to look at them. “This should not have happened. I should have - ”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sasha interrupted. Wilde glanced up at her; her arms were crossed over her chest, her head bowed in apparent contemplation. “If we gotta trust Grizzop then that’s easy enough.” When she looked up, her expression was carefully blank. “Lemme see the maps again. I wanna come up with backup plans.”

Wilde slid the small pile of maps across the desk at her, then slipped out of the office, down the hall, out into the low sunlight. He tilted his head back, staring up into the still-blue sky, counted back the hours since Sasha, Hamid, and Azu had come into his office to tell him Grizzop was gone.

The letter in his pocket felt like a weight.

The door next to him opened, and Wilde glanced over to see Azu regarding him thoughtfully. “Would you like company?” she asked, each word carefully selected, dulled of their edges.

Wilde gestured at the wall next to him, and Azu leaned against it, eyeing him out of the corner of her eye as he tilted his head back towards the sky, eyes closed against the sun.

“We will get him back,” Azu said eventually, as the shadows grew longer.

The letter sizzled in Wilde’s coat pocket. Decrypting it had been simple enough - it had been the casual cruelty that had been difficult. The brutal, unthinking carelessness that clung to every coded word. Wilde sighed deeply. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sure.”

* * *

It wasn’t the tight space, necessarily, that put Grizzop’s teeth on edge - it was the _being-shoved-somewhere-dark-and-small-and-left-there,_ the _there-is-a-lock-and-you-will-stay-where-you-are-put,_ the _there-is-no-escape-so-lie-down-and-wait-to-die._

He had given up on shoving at the lid of the tool chest, and lay with his fingers pressed up into the grooves some unfortunate someone before him had clawed into the wood. They were too big to have been made by a goblin - a dwarf, maybe, or a small human. Someone Sasha’s size. Grizzop banished that thought as soon as he had it, a quiver running up his spine.

Sasha would never have gotten herself into this mess; Sasha wouldn’t have turned her back on Price in the woods, no matter how pitiful she had thought him. Grizzop let his arms down. It was awkward, with his wrists bound together, to keep holding them at the angle he was in order to trace the scratch marks. He stared at them instead, tried to count how many could be unique, how old they might be. Anything to focus on something other than the padlock keeping him trapped there.

He closed his eyes; Artemis didn’t have an abundance of prayers, but he murmured a few under his breath. There was no answering warmth, no cool breath of comfort like the wind through the forest, but he had to believe she could hear him. Even here. Eventually the prayers trailed off into something conversational.

_I know you’re still there. I trust you. Please help me escape. Help me avenge the people who made these scratch marks. Help my pack find me. Help them not do anything stupid in the process. They do a lot of stupid things, so they’ll need a lot of help. Wilde especially..._

He only noticed he had fallen asleep when he awoke to a sudden deluge of icy water and panicked. A hysterical cry ripped itself from his throat and he scrabbled for something to hold onto, his heart hammering in his throat, wondering why his arms wouldn’t work the way he wanted them to -

Laughter. He heard laughter. He remembered. He went still, bringing his bound hands up to cover his eyes, choking back the mortifying urge to sob. Hate pulsed in him like a sickness. By increments, his breathing slowed.

“Hate to think how you’d react if there had been soap, too,” Irvin’s voice said, and Grizzop felt himself snarling in the back of his throat. “Sleep well, you filthy rat?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, hauling Grizzop out of the tool chest and dumping him in a dripping heap on the floor. For two heartbeats, Grizzop lay there, burning with rage and humiliation and lingering terror. Then he threw himself at Irvin’s legs teeth first.

He tasted terrible, but Grizzop had never been so satisfied to sink his teeth into anything as he was the meat of Irvin’s calf. Above him, Irvin howled and spat out a string of curses, and swung his leg in a wide arc, slamming Grizzop against the tool chest. Grizzop held fast, the tang of blood on his teeth. The second hit dislodged him and he went to the floor again, stunned and seeing double but staggering to his feet, spitting out a string of bloody saliva. “You little - ”

Grizzop felt something in him snap as Irvin’s boot connected with his abdomen. For one tenuous second, he stayed standing, claws digging into the leather of Irvin’s boot. Then pain exploded at the base of his skull, and the world went white.

He awoke again with a pulsing headache. The gag had been pressed between his teeth once again, pulled somehow even tighter than before. His handcuffs had been looped around a ring in the floor, his arms stretched out above his head. His legs, on the other hand, were unbound and open, Irving kneeling between them. Grizzop realized with an exhausted kind of horror that he had been stripped bare. Something skin-warm and hard was pressing against the delicate skin behind his testicles.

The first rough push inside him wrenched a groan from Grizzop, still dazed. “Good, you’re awake,” Irvin growled. The false joviality had gone from his voice, replaced with hard hatred. It was, at least, more honest, Grizzop thought. He struggled to stay silent as Irvin pulled the whatever-it-was back out of him.

The mystery was solved a second later when the fucking riding crop came down on his stomach, a sharp snap that made Grizzop’s muscles clench. “Pay attention,” Irvin said darkly. Grizzop snorted halfheartedly. His head hurt too much to roll his eyes properly. The riding crop came down perilously close to his soft cock and Grizzop jolted up against Irvin’s hold on his hips. “I can always make things _worse_ for you,” Irvin growled.

He turned the riding crop over in his hand again, one thick thumb holding Grizzop open as he pressed it against his hole and began working it into him, dry and cruel and unrelenting. Grizzop squirmed, back arching as he choked back a groan. He refused - _he refused -_ to cry out any more than he had, to give Irvin the satisfaction. But gods above, it hurt. The leather wasn’t the butter-soft, carefully cared-for kind; it was rough and worn, dragging against every nerve, blunt and unforgiving as it split him open. The weight of it was thick and heavy, made to fit in Irvin’s fist, and settled in Grizzop’s guts like a stone. As Irvin pulled away to examine his handiwork, Grizzop twitched and stared resolutely at the ceiling, breathing hard through his nose.

Irvin splayed a hand over Grizzop’s stomach, pressing lightly as if hoping to feel the riding crop against his palm through layers of flesh, then gave his cock a few unskilled tugs before abandoning it, limp and disinterested. “Hold that for me,” Irvin said, “while I go disinfect my _fucking_ leg.”

Grizzop let out a weak laugh, distantly pleased with himself for that, even through the pain, and watched Irvin limp up the stairs. 

* * *

The waiting was the worst part. Sasha had absconded to the roof, taking maps and floorplans with her. Wilde had gone to meet with Laila again. Azu was meditating quietly in a tucked away corner, face blank and expressionless.

So Hamid, with nothing else to do, wandered the grounds of the meritocratic offices and waited.

He could practice, he supposed. Study the spellwork he needed to know to break the wards they would be up against. He had never been good at studying.

Price, supposedly, was a quick study. A wizard specializing in anti-magic and enchantments, who had studied magic in England before meeting up with his business partner, a man named Irvin, and fleeing the country to avoid murder charges. Laila’s intel suggested he had enchanted his entire base of operations - trick rooms to hide in, living ropes to capture intruders, anti-magic fields attuned to his magic and his magic alone. Hamid’s job, with Sasha’s help, was to find the focus point and unravel it, hopefully without Price noticing, so that Wilde could take him down and the rest of them could rescue Grizzop and take out Irvin.

Simple enough.  
Never mind that it meant Wilde would be alone with Price for who knew how long. Never mind it meant Wilde would have to take off his own anti-magic shackles in order to stand a chance of defending himself. This was fine. Hamid could handle this.

He would have to.

* * *

Grizzop could hear voices upstairs - someone, likely Price, was laughing, though there was no joy in it. Grizzop ignored it and twisted in his bonds. Every motion shifted the crop buried inside him; he let out a low whine, fingers curling around the ring he was tied to. It was frustrating - too inflexible, too thick and heavy to be ignored - sending jolts of sensation up his spine with every movement. Not quite pain, not every time, but always low and nauseating and overwhelming. Grizzop panted and tried to feel along his bonds with trembling fingertips.

He didn’t think the chains were adamantine, which was lucky. He couldn’t tell if they were magical, outside of being animate - the collar was enchanted, that much was certain, but the cuffs seemed mundane. He could feel a keyhole on one of them, though he didn’t have anything to pick it, and he wasn’t sure he would be able to even if he did. He wondered if he could dislocate a thumb and wiggle free before Irvin got back, or if that would leave him with a broken thumb and animate chains that were annoyed with him for trying to escape.

As he was considering his options, the door at the top of the stairs opened, but it wasn’t Irvin who stalked into the basement. Price loomed over him, mouth curled in a contemplative smirk. “You think you’re so brave and clever, don’t you,” he said, his voice low and calm. He reached out with a foot to nudge the riding crop, shifting it against Grizzop’s insides, watching as Grizzop struggled to find a position that relieved some of the throbbing ache of it. “Defiant to the very end, that’s you.”

Price sank to the floor, sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him, pressing the toe of one boot against Grizzop’s cheek. With one hand he began pumping the riding crop in short, painful thrusts. “You can bite all the ankles you want, but that’s not going to change anything.” He flexed his foot, forcing Grizzop to turn his head. “Tomorrow morning, you’re either getting sold to some bureaucratic fool with more money than sense, or they’ll opt to be referred to our associates for something a little more well-behaved.” He twisted the riding crop as he thrust it deeper, and Grizzop winced. “And if they don’t want you, you have nothing but us to look forward to. And Irvin might not be, but I am _very patient.”_

Price pulled the riding crop free, examining the handle with cold, absent curiosity before letting it clatter to the floor. Grizzop watched him out of the corner of his eye, his neck aching with the angle it was forced into. His body felt tight and hot - violated and beaten and pulsing with anger and adrenaline - and when Price stuffed a finger into him he jerked hard against his chains. “Maybe you get bought by some soft-hearted fool who’ll be kind and gentle,” Price said, conversationally. Grizzop writhed on his hand, breathing hard through his nose, squeezing his eyes shut against the hard stretch of intrusion. “Probably not. But maybe.” Price walked the fingers of his free hand along Grizzop’s stomach down over his soft prick, then cupped his balls and squeezed, hard. Grizzop went taut in his grip, his breath catching, a wail threatening to burst free from his chest. “But I will be nothing but horrible to you, until _you do as I say”_ \- and here he _twisted,_ until Grizzop _did_ wail, in pain and rage - “or you _die,_ and it makes no difference to me which one you pick.” He pulled out of Grizzop as fast and hard as he had fucked into him, releasing his grip on him and pulling his foot away from his face. Grizzop curled away from him, panting harshly, eyes prickling with tears of fury that he blinked impatiently away.

“Just something to think about,” Price said lightly. He stood, brushing himself off and gazing down at Grizzop with contempt. “Irvin will be with you shortly. He isn’t pleased.” He smiled as he said it, razor-sharp, though Grizzop wasn’t certain if he was reveling in his misfortune or Irvin’s. Both, most likely. At the top of the stairs, through the closed door, the inarticulate sound of Irvin bellowing could be heard, and Price waved before turning on his heel to go and let him in.

* * *

It was early, far too early to leave just yet. The sun hadn’t finished rising. Wilde had been awake for some time already, and wasn’t surprised when Sasha crawled into his office through the window. “Good morning, Sasha. Coffee?”

“I didn’t think you’d be up,” Sasha said. Then, “Yeah, ok.”

Sasha settled herself in Wilde’s chair, knees up around her chin, and he let her, passing her a mug and watching as she curled her hands around it. He sat in the chair opposite her, his desk between them, and for a moment, in the grapefruit glow of the early morning, they were quiet.

“You sleep at all?” Sasha eventually asked. “I mean, tonight, not ever. Maybe also ever?” She peered at him over the rim of her mug, backlit by the sunrise, her expression hidden in shadow.

“I try,” Wilde replied. “I’ll sleep better when this is over.” He tossed back the last of his coffee and reached for the carafe to pour a new cup. “What about you? Were you on the roof all night?”

“Not _all_ night,” Sasha said, a note of defensiveness in her tone. Her fingers tapped out an anxious pattern on the ceramic in her hands. “I couldn’t - I mean. I’m.”

“Yes,” Wilde said, to spare her the ordeal of voicing it. “Me too.”

“We’ll leave soon?”

“As soon as I can get us a carriage.”

“And you...” Sasha hesitated again. Wilde had the sense that there were branches to that sentence, tributaries with different questions at the end of them. He waited, curious to see which one she picked. “You’re gonna be okay?” she finally asked, her voice twisting into something just the slightest bit desperate. “It’s not all gonna go wrong?” 

“Not if I can help it.” Here it was his turn to pause, to feel out the shape of the conversation before adding, “And I...trust you to do your end of the job.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sasha said immediately, flippantly. “Course I will. Just don’t want you getting, you know, stabbed or something while I’m not around.”

Wilde smiled faintly over the rim of his mug. “I’ll do my best.”

* * *

Irvin hadn’t bothered to lock him away in the tool chest the night before. Grizzop suspected it was because he had stopped fighting back at some point, his body finally starting to give out, succumbing to the pain and indignity and the feverish dizziness that he had belatedly recognized as dehydration. Eventually, Irvin had put him on the ground and Grizzop simply...stayed there. Too worn down to struggle back to his feet. Too exhausted to do much more than claw weakly when Irvin pulled Grizzop’s hips off the floor to fuck a too-big finger into him. It hurt, and it hurt when Irvin shoved the fingers of his free hand down Grizzop’s open throat until he gagged, and it hurt when Irvin dumped him in a heap and brought the riding crop down on him again and again, but Grizzop stayed ragdoll-limp.

The pain was distant now, anyway. Boring, almost. He closed his eyes and thought of vengeance and let Irvin do what he would.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to Irvin yanking him to his feet. “Come on, molerat,” he snarled while Grizzop swayed and found his balance. “Time for you to meet our mysterious benefactor.”

* * *

They stopped the carriage maybe a quarter mile from their destination. Wilde tried not to notice how Hamid’s eyes went to his wrists as he began to undo his cuffs. “Wait ten minutes before you follow me,” he said. There was something about the solemnity with which they accepted his orders, without objection or irritation or the slightest whisper of levity, that made Wilde’s throat feel tight. He resisted the urge to swallow. “I’ll have the mobile stone with me, but I won’t be reachable until after the wards are down - even then, try not to call me unless something goes wrong. You have the anti-magic cuffs Laila gave you?” Hamid nodded, patting his bag of holding. “Good. Hopefully you won’t end up needing them.” 

He paused with his hand on the door to the carriage, the feeling of something unspoken hovering over him. But what else was there to say? They had been over and over the plan and backup plans and escape routes and there was no point in reciting them now, so what was sticking in the back of his throat, as he looked out at three pairs of painfully serious eyes?

“Be careful, Oscar,” Hamid said, quietly, and the knot in Wilde’s chest loosened, just a little.

He nodded. “And you,” he said, and closed the door.

He didn’t watch them as they faded into the distance. The short carriage ride to the front door of the hidden-away house in the woods was just enough time to construct his facade, to wrap himself in a cloak of casual, entitled cruelty, cold and imperious and untouchable. When they pulled up to the front gate, he tipped the driver the amount of the fare twice over and instructed him to return to town without stopping. If the driver found that strange, Wilde didn’t know or care; he strode towards the house without once looking at him.

The woman who answered his knock had the solid build of someone familiar with hard labor and a pinched, suspicious expression on her features. She looked him up and down, one eyebrow arching as she took him in, but no recognition lit up her eyes. Perhaps they would get lucky and nobody here knew him. “Can I help you?”

“I have business with Mr. Price,” Wilde said in a bored drawl. He reached into his inner pocket and produced the encrypted letter he had received, holding it out for the woman to check the seal on it. She gave it a cursory glance, but didn’t cast any spells to test its authenticity, and Wilde permitted himself the tiniest scrap of hope that everyone involved might be so incompetent.

“He expecting you?” the woman asked.

Wilde rolled his eyes. “I would hope so,” he said curtly. “Are you going to let me in or not?”

For a moment it seemed the answer might be “or not”; the woman hovered on the threshold, mouth twisted in a scowl. Then from behind her there was a sharp “Nettie!” and she was being pulled away, the door opening wider to reveal a man whom Wilde might have considered attractive, had he not known the intimate details of his trade. The newcomer gave him the same once over that Nettie had, but his expression shifted from distrust to surprise to something dark and lascivious.

“I must admit,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing for Wilde to enter, “I wasn’t expecting you, of all people, Mr. Wilde.”

* * *

The woods surrounding the house were filled with traps, and Sasha disarmed them all with brutal efficiency, muttering disparagingly beneath her breath the whole time. “Amateurs,” she growled, as she jammed a release mechanism and neutralized a poison dart trap. “These are dead easy to take care of, they can’t possibly be this stupid. Maybe they get better near the house?”

“Let us hope that is not the case,” Azu said. “Where do the wards begin?”

“Further ahead,” Hamid said. His eyes had the far-off look to them that he got when he was seeing something Azu could not, his mouth set in a hard line. “They seem fairly basic, but...they’ve been cast...strangely.”

“Strangely?” Azu repeated. “Strangely how?”

Hamid shook his head. “It’s difficult to say - it could be nothing, I’ll have to get a closer look. We should keep going.”

The break in the iron-wrought fence was where Wilde had said it would be; Sasha was irate as she checked it for traps and found it wanting. “They must know it’s _here,”_ she said. “It’s completely open! Anyone could get in!”

“That’s a good thing,” Azu reminded her as Hamid scrambled through the fence, pausing once he was through to magic away the dirt and grime of the forest.

“Yeah,” Sasha said, pausing halfway beneath the fence. “But it’s the _principle_ of the thing.”

It was a tight squeeze for Azu, but one that was over with quickly, and she brushed off the brief flash of discomfort easily. There were more important things at stake. She looked up at the house before her; it seemed, up close, to be massive, its state of disrepair notwithstanding. “Wilde said there was a cellar entrance?” she said, frowning up at a broken window on the third floor.

“Yes,” Hamid said. “But all the windows have alarms on them - over here, we can hide in the shed while I disable them.”

* * *

Grizzop wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, when he was dragged naked into a large sitting room, but it wasn’t Price staring down Oscar Wilde. He stamped down hard on any reaction, not that either of them spared him a glance; they glared at each other, locked in some battle of wills Grizzop wasn’t privy to, until Irvin coughed politely. (As politely as one could cough, when one’s hand was hooked around a magical shock collar, holding up a person one has kidnapped.)

Price broke eye contact first. “Ah,” he said, his voice airy and light and as venomous as a snake. “Right on time. Thank you, Irvin, you can go. Take Nettie with you.”

For a moment, Irvin hesitated, just long enough that the poison in Price’s eyes took on a slightly manic quality; then he snorted, shoved Grizzop hard into the center of the room, and gestured for Nettie, sulking in a corner Grizzop hadn’t noticed until Price had pointed her out, to follow him. The door closed behind them, and for a moment the air was oil one spark away from igniting. Wilde turned his gaze to Grizzop.

Grizzop met his eyes with defiance, tilting his head up in spite of the collar, the gag, the chains weighing him down. Wilde’s face was a block of ice, his scrutiny palpable as his eyes raked over Grizzop’s form. He sneered, then turned back to Price. Grizzop glanced at his wrists, but couldn’t tell if the bands were still there. Worry gnawed at him - whatever foolhardy plan Wilde had come up with, Grizzop couldn’t protect him like this.

“Your letter came at an...inopportune time, Mr. Wilde,” Price said. He stalked over and planted a foot on Grizzop’s shoulder, shoving him down onto his knees. “We haven’t exactly had the time to train it properly for you.”

Wilde smiled, and it was devoid of anything warm, sickle-sharp and as empty as his eyes. “That shouldn’t be a problem,” he said, and there was nothing of his usual infuriating flippancy there, no playful teasing or flirtation, just something as flat and cold as a frozen lake. Grizzop twitched beneath Price’s boot. “I have to admit, there is something satisfying about having the opportunity to break him in myself.”

Grizzop couldn’t see Price’s face, bowed as he was, but there was a note of something smug and awful in his voice when he spoke. “Oh, really? It’s a shame to admit it, but this one has been giving us some trouble. Perhaps” - and he was smirking, Grizzop could _hear_ it - “you would be so kind as to give a demonstration?”

* * *

_Fuck._ Wilde had kept his cool demeanor when Price recognized him, when Grizzop had been dragged before him stripped and bound (a close call, then, anger like a knife in his gut, and the distant panic that Grizzop wasn’t meant to be here, the script was already wrong), when Price had forced him to his knees and offered him up like an object. He kept it now, despite the sharp jolt of fear that pulsed in him at Price’s words. He arched one scornful eyebrow. “I’ve never been much for exhibitionist displays...” he began, but Price cut him off.

“Now, Mr. Wilde, no need for false modesty. There’s no shame in showing off a skilled hand.” _Do it, bastard,_ his eyes said. _I don’t believe you. Prove it._

What Wilde wanted to do, more than anything, was to look down and catch Grizzop’s eye, to make sure he understood, that they were on the same page. He didn’t. Instead he spread his hands and allowed himself the smallest of smiles, self-satisfied and hollow, hollow, hollow. “Well,” he said, “if you insist.” 

* * *

Hamid’s nose was bleeding. Or, it had been bleeding - he touched his upper lip delicately and blinked up at Azu and Sasha, who were staring at him in alarm. “Just a moment,” he croaked, and hauled himself upright to peer out the window of the shed they were hunkered in. The windows of the derelict old house was no longer aglow with magic. “Alarms are down,” he announced. “Did you heal me?”

“You fainted,” Azu said, as if that explained it. “What happened?”

“It was...harder than I thought,” Hamid admitted. “Something rebounded. It should be fine. I’m fine. We have to get inside.”

The cellar entrance Wilde had described was a tighter fit than it was supposed to have been - bad intel, maybe, or renovations, but either way there was no chance Azu would fit. “We - we could find another entrance,” Hamid said hesitantly. Sasha had already gone to her knees to pick at the lock.

“No time,” Azu said darkly. “I’ll stay out here. If you can find a way to sneak me in, then fine, if not, send me a signal and I’ll find a door to break down.”

“Got it.” Sasha leveraged open the basement window. She looked up at Azu. “You gonna be ok?”

“Go,” Azu said. “I’ll be fine. Be quick, be safe.”

* * *

Wilde’s fingers were cool where they closed around Grizzop’s jaw, tilting his head back. “A bit heavy handed,” he murmured, eyeing the ring of bruises around Grizzop’s throat.

“An unfortunate necessity, at times,” Price said.

Grizzop jerked his head away, a growl in his throat - he had been expecting a blow for that, just not from Wilde. His head snapped to the side from the force of it, cheek tingling from an open-handed slap. “Behave yourself,” Wilde said blandly. Grizzop glowered at him; he gave no indication of caring. Wilde’s hand found the collar and Grizzop couldn’t stop the flinch that ran through him. Wilde looked up at Price with the mildest of curiosity.

“Enchanted,” Price said. “Not really my specialty, to be honest, but useful. Watch.”

And Grizzop shrieked, falling forward into Wilde’s arms as pain ripped through him. Wilde held him up by the scruff of his neck, humming thoughtfully as Grizzop writhed. “Clever,” Grizzop heard him say. Then the pain stopped and he was being jerked off the floor entirely, pulled into Wilde’s lap as he settled in an armchair. “We should discuss payment,” Wilde was saying. Then, tilting his head towards Grizzop’s ear, “Get your hands on me, would you? Business without pleasure is so...distasteful.”

For a moment, legs splayed open over Wilde’s lap, still humming with the aftershocks of pain from the collar, Grizzop could only tremble in mute rage, glaring up at Wilde indignantly. Wilde’s hand came up to cradle his face, fingers pressing tightly against the hinge of his jaw. “Do I need to speak slower?” he sneered, haughty and bored and irritated, but he wouldn’t quite meet Grizzop’s eyes. “Perhaps that’s why your training hasn’t taken, Price, he’s just not bright enough.”

Grizzop fumed; Wilde rolled his hips in wordless encouragement. Grizzop plucked at the clasps of his trousers with shaking hands. Wilde’s hand released his jaw and rubbed absently up his cheek, then along his ear in one long stroke; Grizzop felt his breath catch and shoved that reaction aside, smothering it mercilessly. He pulled Wilde’s prick free and gave him a few quick jerks.

It was a nicer cock than Irvin’s. Even soft he was thick enough that Grizzop needed both hands to wrap around him completely, rubbing both thumbs against his slit. Slowly, Wilde began to respond, growing hot and heavy in Grizzop’s hands; above him, Wilde was chatting nonchalantly with Price, steady and unaffected. His hand was toying absently with the tip of Grizzop’s ear. It was maddening.

“You have a softer touch than I would have guessed, Mr. Wilde,” Price said suddenly, cutting off Wilde halfway through a sentence. Wilde’s hand paused on Grizzop’s ear.

“I’ve been known to be...indulgent,” Wilde said slowly. “And he’s behaving well enough. Perhaps this one just needed a gentler hand than you’ve been providing.”

Grizzop heard Price get up and glanced up at Wilde’s face. He was watching Price approach with absent curiosity; when Price stepped into view, leaning over the back of the chair and into Wilde’s personal space, he glared at Grizzop with deep distrust. Grizzop met his gaze with grim determination, eyes narrowed, teeth clenching tight around his gag. Price leaned in closer, until he and Wilde were nearly cheek-to-cheek - Wilde’s bored curiosity faded into something cold and blank and carefully controlled - and darted a hand forward to shove three fingers down Grizzop’s throat. Grizzop gagged, jerking backwards, teeth gnashing. Wilde’s hand on his back kept him from tumbling backwards to the floor.

“It bites,” Price was saying, pressing down on the back of Grizzop’s tongue so he choked. “Took a good chunk out of my colleague yesterday, in fact. Just be aware of where you put that gentle hand of yours.”

* * *

Price pulled his hand away and Grizzop doubled over, coughing wetly and sucking in heaving gasps of air. Wilde could feel him trembling beneath his hand, and when he spoke, it was only great effort that kept his voice steady. “More flies with honey,” he said. He tilted Grizzop’s face upwards with a gentle touch of his jaw, arching an eyebrow at the mess of drool and angry tears on his face. “I rather think the two of us could get along just fine.”

There was hardly room for Price to lean in further, and when he did, his lips brushed the pulse point at Wilde’s neck. Wilde was certain, for one dizzying moment, that he would be able to feel his heart hammering. He reached instinctively for his magic, but the wards were still sound - _not yet._

“I think I’d like to see your discipline in action, Mr. Wilde,” Price said. He reached out, stroking deceptively gently along Grizzop’s neck, walking his hands up his scalp until he could grasp an ear and twist it back, yanking hard enough that Grizzop let out a quickly-strangled cry of pain. “I try to be a lifelong learner. And I know how you adore being the life of the party. No need for propriety, here.”

There was a threat in Price’s voice, more present than it had been. Grizzop’s chest was heaving with rapid gasps, one eye screwed shut in pain, the other slit open and bright with tears. His claws were digging into Wilde’s thighs. Wilde forced himself to smile. “I do love a good performance.”

Price released Grizzop’s ear, and Grizzop jerked his head forward, shaking it rapidly, a low groan in his throat. Wilde slapped him, not as hard as he had before, and swallowed the bile it brought to his throat. “Pay attention,” he said, and if there was a spark of emotion in his voice he hoped he could play it off as sharpness. Grizzop glared at him, but it was weak and heatless, more a sulk than anything else, his face wet and his breath coming in ragged gasps. “You want my cock, pretty thing?” Wilde purred; over his shoulder, he could just see Price smirking; Grizzop shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut and bowing his head.

He shook his head, his hands curling around Wilde’s cock again and working him back to full hardness. “Aahh - ” he said, wriggling in Wilde’s lap, looking up. For a moment, he was unguarded - unguarded and _tired,_ poorly-hidden shame in his face as he gestured at his mouth with a short jerk of his bound hands.

“Don’t think you’re in a position to ask for things,” Price said sharply. Wilde envisioned him with his back full of arrows.

“Don’t worry,” Wilde murmured, tilting Grizzop’s face away from Price. “You’ll like it.” He dipped his fingers into Grizzop’s mouth, not as deeply as Price had. “Get them wet,” he said, slicking his fingertips over Grizzop’s tongue. “I have a rather spectacular prick and I’d prefer not to skin it.” Price rolled his eyes audibly, but thankfully didn’t object.

Grizzop watched Wilde flatly as he pulled spit-slick fingers from his mouth, then closed his eyes as Wilde pushed a fingertip into him.

Gods, he wanted to be gentle and slow, he wanted to open Grizzop up with his mouth and hands and feel his claws yanking at his hair and listen to him urging him on. Instead Grizzop made a noise like he had been punched and let out a shaking breath from his nose, wincing, the chains around his wrists cold against Wilde’s chest.

Wilde wanted to be slow, but he could feel Price’s gaze boring into him; he fucked a second finger into Grizzop and smiled as he did it.

* * *

The spit helped. Grizzop tried to force himself to relax, to take it - at least it wasn’t Irvin, forcing thick leather into him dry. Wilde wasn’t gentle, but he was skilled, moreso than Irvin or Price had been, pressing into him with measured thrusts, crooking his fingers to rub against his insides. If not for Price looming over them, Grizzop could almost pretend like he wanted to be there. It wasn’t like with Irvin at all.

It was worse.

Grizzop screwed his eyes shut and buried his face in Wilde’s chest, his hands fisting in his jacket, his breath hitching. Wilde’s fingers sank another agonizing inch into him, stretching him, and Grizzop wanted to bite down on something to smother the wild keening noise threatening to burst from his chest. Wilde gathered both his ears in his fist and dragged him back; Grizzop kept his eyes shut. “Don’t drool on me,” Wilde said, and the cool disregard in his voice should have been grounding, a harsh jolt back to reality. Instead Grizzop whined, hips jerking before he could stop them.

Price let out a disbelieving little laugh. “Maybe you have a point, Mr. Wilde.” Grizzop felt him lean in close again, opening his eyes to glare when Price wrapped a hand around his cock, hot and hard. He growled, breaking off with a choked cry when Wilde yanked on his ears.

“Be polite,” Wilde said. Grizzop couldn’t bring himself to look at him, let his eyes slip closed again, struggling to get a grip on himself. The stretch of Wilde’s fingers had gone from too much to something tight and slick and _good,_ his body opening up. It was still just this side of too much, too big, too fast, but the clever press of Wilde’s fingers sent sparks up Grizzop’s spine, made him want to bear down on him and _take._ He was perversely grateful for Price’s useless, unskilled hand on him - not quite enough to counteract Wilde’s hand, but enough to be grounding, to remind Grizzop that they weren’t alone, they weren’t safe, this wasn’t the Oscar Wilde that he - knew.

When Wilde pulled his fingers out of him, Grizzop knew better than to be relieved.

The slow press of Wilde’s cock inside him was dizzying and relentless. Grizzop kept his eyes stubbornly closed, didn’t want to see the look on Wilde’s face. Or Price’s. His stupid useless cock was still hard in Price’s hand, dripping wet over his fingers. He could hear Wilde breathing heavily over the rush of blood in his ears. When Wilde’s cock finally bottomed out, Grizzop couldn’t hold back a moan.

* * *

Grizzop was tight, almost unbearably so, just spit easing the way, and Wilde allowed himself a moment to adjust, closing his eyes and exhaling in a long, slow sigh. Price was still too close, and Wilde could feel his breath when he spoke. “Never really saw the appeal of these little bastards,” he said (Wilde’s hands twitched on Grizzop’s hips, his control slipping for a brief moment), “but you really do have a masterful touch, I’ll give you that much.”

Wilde swallowed twice before he trusted his voice. “Told you,” he said. He rolled his hips experimentally; Grizzop groaned again, high and breathy. Price laughed over Wilde’s shoulder, then stalked back to his armchair, draping himself across it, grinning coolly as he watched Grizzop writhe in Wilde’s lap. “Beatings will only get you - ngh - so far.”

“Maybe you were right. Have you considered entering our profession, Mr. Wilde? Seems you have a knack for it.”

Wilde let out a short breath of a laugh. “You flatter me.”

As carefully as he dared, he thrust up into the tight heat of Grizzop’s body, guilt spiking through him as Grizzop’s breath caught. He set a pace, trying to hit the sweet spot between cruel and cautious, something Price would find satisfactory that wouldn’t hurt Grizzop too badly. He gripped tight at Grizzop’s thighs, lifting him slightly to keep from jarring him as Wilde fucked into him. Grizzop clung to his arms and refused to look at him, back bowed, breathing hard and fast, broken by the occasional faint moan.

“I’m curious where you found this one,” Wilde said, for want of anything else to say - he couldn’t bear it, for Price to just watch him silently, looking smug and sadistic.

“Poor little thing was all alone in the woods,” Price murmured. “It put up a decent fight.” He smirked, watching as Grizzop’s arched back stiffened. “Seems it likes you. This is the first time it’s been cooperative since we brought it here.”

Wilde rolled his head back, staring up at the ceiling, rolling his hips and trying to derive some scrap of pleasure from it. He allowed himself to stroke his thumb over the jut of Grizzop’s hipbone, the smallest gesture of tenderness, since it was seeming unlikely he would get the opportunity to do so under better conditions.

The wards were still in place. _Hurry, Hamid..._

* * *

“I don’t understand,” Hamid was muttering, while Sasha stood at the end of the hallway and watched for intruders. “There’s more anti-magic but I don’t know how it works, it’s...it’s _weird.”_

“Well - figure it out!” Sasha hissed. “We haven’t got time! We’ve got to get to Grizzop and find Wilde and get out of here.”

“I could just brute force it,” Hamid said, more to himself. “But they’ll notice, there’s no way they won’t...”

Above them there the sound of stomping; Sasha backed up towards Hamid, daggers out. “Do it,” she whispered. “No time left.”

Hamid let out a slow breath. “Okay,” he said. “Get ready.”

The wards popped like a soap bubble, and somewhere above them there was a roar of fury.

* * *

Grizzop almost wanted Price’s hand back to distract him. Wilde was thick and pulsing inside him, his voice rumbling in his chest - Grizzop couldn’t focus on what he was saying, too wrapped up in clinging to the thin strands of his self-control. He sought solace in his anger - _he had wanted this, or something like it, was there nothing these bastards wouldn’t take from him_ \- but it was slippery and hard to hold onto. He was worn down, his nerves raw and exposed after days of abuse, and Wilde’s hands on his hips were gentle and his cock inside him was ruthless and Grizzop had _wanted this._

He sobbed when he came, his claws digging into Wilde’s skin, and Wilde’s low cursing buzzed along his skin in waves.

* * *

Wilde hadn’t been expecting it, the hot clench of Grizzop’s muscles, the muffled cry as he came in hot streaks across Wilde’s stomach. Wilde broke off mid-sentence, cursing as his own orgasm slammed into him. It wasn’t good, necessarily. Not the slick, mind-numbing pulses of pleasure he usually strove for - more an unexpected gut-punch, his cock jolting, his hands tightening their grip on Grizzop’s hips, his stomach swooping as if he’d just fallen three stories. He clung to his composure, but it was a close thing. Grizzop had gone boneless and shivering in his lap.

“So about payment,” Price said, once Wilde had recovered somewhat. He was smirking; Wilde wanted to punch it off his face.

“Well, you’ve certainly earned it,” Wilde said. He eased himself out of Grizzop and tucked himself away. He felt filthy in a way that had nothing to do with the come drying on his stomach or oozing out of Grizzop into his lap. He smiled in spite of it. “I - ”

From the other room, there was a howl. Price looked up; Wilde reached for his magic and, finding it, flung the first spell he could think of at Price’s face. Price screamed, his own voice joining the cacophony of sound Wilde had summoned, and fell backwards as the wood of his armchair crunched and collapsed. Wilde scooped Grizzop, still limp and unresisting, into his arms and ran.

* * *

Azu heard a scream from inside the house and made an executive decision that she wasn’t going to wait and find out if it was a good scream. She picked a window and shattered it, hauling herself up and into a hallway. The mobile stone crackled to life in her palm.

“Azu!”

“Hamid!” Azu hissed, axe raised, back to the wall as she peered around a corner. “What happened?”

“I broke the wards but I couldn’t do it without them noticing and they _definitely noticed_ and I heard something upstairs and - ”

“I’m in, I broke a window,” Azu said.

“ - screaming and - oh, good! Try to find Wilde! We’re in the basement, we think that - oh dear - ”

The stone faded. Azu shook it. “Hamid? Sasha!” She groaned in frustration, tucked the stone away, and hefted her axe in both hands. “Okay,” she rumbled, and headed in the direction the roar seemed to have originated. 

* * *

Sasha grabbed hold of Hamid and bolted. She wasn’t certain if whoever had screamed would know where they were and she was unwilling to find out. She had memorized the twisting hallways sketched out on the maps for just this reason, and though they weren’t perfect, they were close enough that she could drag Hamid through the basement without getting them both cornered. She could hear him chattering frantically to Azu over the mobile stone, then cut off abruptly.

“What?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

“It stopped!” Hamid hissed, waving the stone in her face. “Sasha - I - I think they got the wards up again already! We have to find Price and take him out, or else Wilde is going to get himself killed!”

* * *

Wilde ran, mentally cursing himself for not taking more care to memorize the blueprints, and Hamid for whatever explosive tack he had taken in dismantling Price’s wards. He ducked into a room - an unused sitting room, maybe, empty of furniture but for an ancient-looking china cabinet - and eased Grizzop onto the floor, careful not to jostle him too badly. 

He had fainted. Perhaps unsurprisingly, now that Wilde could take a good look at him, at the ugly bruises and unwashed cuts on his face and body, at the way the gag bit too deep into the hinges of his jaw. Wilde brushed aside his anger and set to work untying him. Grizzop groaned faintly as Wilde eased the gag from his mouth. “Easy,” Wilde said. He wasn’t certain if Grizzop was awake enough to hear him. “It’s all right, you’re - you’re all right.” Not safe yet. Not by any stretch.

The collar was more difficult than the cuffs and gag had been, required more focus, and eventually Wilde gave up on _opening_ the lock and simply _broke_ it. By the time the collar was off Grizzop had stirred into wakefulness. “About time you got here,” he croaked.

Wilde shrugged off his jacket and draped it around Grizzop’s shoulders. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. “The others - ” He cut off abruptly, turning towards the doorway at the sound of approaching footsteps. He stood, gesturing for Grizzop to stay quiet, and moved to the door, listening intently, one hand half lifted, a spell ready on his lips.

The footsteps stopped; five seconds later, the door splintered inwards. Wilde stumbled back a step, reaching for magic. It didn’t come.

In the doorway, Irvin smiled coldly at him. “None of that, I’m afraid, Mr. Wilde,” he said, held out a hand, and fired three magic missiles into Wilde’s chest.

* * *

Irvin hauled Price up out of the remains of his armchair and snarled “You said he was - ”

“I _know,”_ Price snapped. He pressed a hand delicately to his nose; it was gushing blood. “What happened to your anti-magic spells?”

“Someone _fucking broke them,_ obviously,” Irvin said. “Where the fuck is Wilde? I’ll kill him for this, that slimy, lying - ”

“You should go find whoever’s breaking your spells,” Price started, but Irvin cut him off with a roar.

“You find them, this is _your_ fault! They’ll be in the basement. The whole house is on lockdown now. Even you should be able to handle some scrawny little wizard without his magic, right? Now where are our guest and that molerat?”

Price snarled and gestured down a hallway. “That way.” Irvin shoved him aside and started off. “And don’t kill him!” Price shouted after him. “He’ll be worth something to someone.” Irvin gave no indication of having heard him; Price snorted in irritation and started towards the basement.

* * *

The woman in the kitchen had whirled when she heard Azu enter, paring knife in her hand. Then she had looked up at Azu’s full height, her armor, her raised battleaxe, and fainted dead away. “Well,” Azu said out loud, “if you’re going to make things easy for me.”

So the woman was bound to a kitchen chair and slowly coming to her senses while Azu planted herself against the door to keep out unwanted guests. “I had nothing to do with anything,” the woman said, before she had even opened her eyes, her voice a breathy whine. “They made me do it.”

Azu gave her a flat look. “I don’t care about that,” she said. “I have questions for you.”

“Oh gods, please let me go, I - th-they kidnapped me, that’s it - ”

“Stop,” Azu said. “I’m not going to hurt you, and I do not care about.” She paused, then made a broad gesture in the woman’s direction. “Any of this blabbering. I’m trying to find my friend.”

The woman eyed her warily. “I don’t know anything. I don’t have anything to do with any of this stuff, I’m just an innocent bystander - ”

Azu sighed, stretched out a hand and attempted to cast zone of truth - only to find her magic blocked, locked away behind a solid wall of force. She paused. The woman was still babbling. “Shut up. _Shut up._ How are the anti-magic wards back up?”

The woman looked at her with wide eyes. “I don’t have anything to do with the magic, Irvin is - I-I mean, I don’t know - ”

“Irvin?” Azu frowned. “Not Price?”

“P-Price is - uhm, I don’t know who...”

“Oh for the love of - just stay here.”

Azu slipped out into the hallway again. She glanced at the mobile stone - still unresponsive. All right, then, new plan, if it wasn’t Price maintaining the wards: Find Irvin. Take him out. Hopefully find Grizzop and Wilde, hopefully neither of them dead. She closed her eyes, refused to follow that particular rabbit down its hole, and started down the hallway.

* * *

Ideally they would have snuck up on Price, but, Hamid thought, dazed and blinking stars from his vision, since when had anything ever gone right for them. Sasha, at least, appeared to have vanished; Hamid took that as his queue to be distracting. He hauled himself up from where he’d collapsed against the wall after Price had thrown him, drew his crossbow, and fired blindly. He missed, but it forced Price to move away from him, and Hamid staggered five steps back. The wet-cloth quality of the anti-magic wards itched at him, oppressive and rank, and Hamid wasn’t sure if it were that or his throbbing head that made his hands shake as he reloaded his crossbow.

“Well now, you’re a prettier one than the thing we found in the woods,” Price said. He started forward, hand going to his hip, and Hamid stepped back once, twice, swinging his crossbow up and taking more careful aim, this time.

In the end it didn’t matter - Price went down with a scream as Sasha cut his legs out from under him, daggers flashing, and Hamid darted forward to clamp the anti-magic cuffs onto him. Price, collapsed and bloody and cursing up a storm, struggled wildly, but Hamid managed to lock the cuffs around his wrist.

He waited for the wards to collapse. One moment. Two. Nothing happened.

“Hamid?”

“This doesn’t make sense,” Hamid muttered. He snapped his fingers; nothing. “I don’t understand, how are they still up?”

“What are you talking about, you stupid - ”

“Shut _up,”_ Hamid snapped. “What’s powering the wards?”

Price stared at him, then, worryingly, began to laugh. “Oh, you are stupid,” he said. “Wilde give you faulty intel?”

“What are you talking about?” Sasha asked, but Price only laughed.

* * *

The glass doors to the china cabinet shattered when Wilde fell back against them, briefly stunned, crying out in pain and shock. He struggled to regain his feet, ducking Irvin’s fist at the last second and throwing a punch of his own.

If Irvin noticed the blow to his stomach, he gave no indication of it; he fisted a hand in Wilde’s hair and slammed him into the mess of wood and broken glass behind him, his free hand coming up to close around his throat. Wilde scrabbled at his arm, dug his nails in til he drew blood, kicked futilely at Irvin’s legs, to no avail. Glass shards bit into him; blood ran in thin rivulets down his neck. The edges of his vision pulsed with black.

“Price says to keep you kicking,” Irvin was saying, bearing down on Wilde with both hands digging into his throat now. “Thinks we could sell you for something decent. And I can’t decide if I should listen and get to enjoy breaking you, or just kill you like the filthy little - ”

Suddenly his hands loosened and Wilde sucked in a heaving gasp of air, sagging against the china cabinet. Irvin was grasping at his own neck, at the wire-thin collar digging into his skin there, one hand reaching back to try and get at Grizzop, who was hanging off him, yanking the collar ever tighter. Still dazed, Wilde reached up, felt the weave of the collar’s enchantment beneath his fingertips, and _twisted._

Irvin made a noise like a punctured balloon, staggering away like a wounded thing as cruel magic drove its hooks into him, falling to his knees with a heavy thud. Wilde sank slowly to the floor, watching avidly as Irvin went red then white then blue. “Grizzop,” he croaked. Grizzop’s eyes snapped to his, and for a moment Wilde couldn’t speak - couldn’t deny Grizzop, bloody and bruised and defiantly unbroken, the satisfaction of doing whatever he pleased with the man writhing beneath him. “We need him alive,” he said, but made no move to stand.

Grizzop growled, jerked on the collar; Irvin fell forward in a faint, and Wilde felt the air pressure shift as the anti-magic wards flickered out. For a moment, Wilde wasn’t sure if Grizzop intended to stop or not; then his grip on the collar went lax and he slid to the floor off Irvin’s back, burying his face in his hands.

The remnants of the door burst open, and Wilde nearly flung a spell through it before Azu stepped into the room, her face grim. “Wilde,” she said, and started towards him.

Wilde shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said, and gestured at Grizzop, still motionless next to Irvin, but for the quivering in his ears.

Azu grimaced and knelt beside him, and Wilde busied himself with cuffing Irvin and stepping out into the hallway, reaching for his own mobile stone as he leaned heavily against the wall. “Hamid,” he said, and then faltered. “We’re upstairs,” he finally said, pressing hard against his eyes.

“Are you all right?!” Hamid’s voice asked, tinny and high with worry. “And Grizzop, is he - ”

“With Azu,” Wilde said. His throat was aching, and he touched it absently. There would be bruising, later. “Is Price with you?”

“Yes, he’s here. And you’re sure you’re - ”

_“Fine,”_ Wilde said tightly. “I’m going to call for someone to back us up. Gather everyone in one place, if you would.” He closed the connection before Hamid could answer, looking up into the room he had left. Azu and Grizzop were talking quietly; Grizzop had wrapped himself once again in Wilde’s jacket. Wilde felt a hollowness pressing against the inside of his ribs, threatening to splinter them apart; he forced himself to turn away, and stepped out into the bright afternoon sun to call for backup.

* * *

The woman who questioned Grizzop was patient and gentle and Grizzop couldn’t stand her. He suspected he was being unfair to her - she wanted to help, that much was clear, but the pity in her voice was grating, and the way she spoke around everything was worse.

“You don’t have to go into any detail, if it makes you uncomfortable,” she was saying, “but we need to know - ”

“They raped me,” Grizzop said flatly, and at least she didn’t look shocked. Just dreadfully sad. “Called it ‘training.’ There were scratch marks on the box they kept me in, they’ve got more victims and probably collaborators, other hideouts. Can I talk to them?”

“Not right now,” the woman said. “They’re being questioned,” she added, when Grizzop huffed in irritation. “They’re going to be brought into custody, and I will make sure you get the chance to question them then, if you still want to.”

Grizzop let out a long sigh. Part of him wanted to argue, to insist, to point out that he was a paladin of Artemis and it was his duty to see justice done here and now and - but he was so tired. He nodded instead. “Fine,” he said. “Are we finished?”

“Of course,” the woman said. Grizzop tried not to bristle at the softness in her voice. He stood, nodded stiffly at her, and slipped away into the overgrown yard. The sun was still bright in the sky, though it was starting to be obscured by clouds. Grizzop leaned heavily against the house and tugged Wilde’s jacket tighter around his shoulders.

Hamid had brought him fresh clothes, and his armor had been salvaged from an upstairs bedroom, untouched since it had been stripped from him. His bow and quiver were back in their rightful places. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to take off the jacket. It was a fiercely bright turquoise, flashy and flamboyant, clashing hideously with Grizzop’s muted armor. It smelled like Wilde.

There was a small cough behind him, a deliberate clearing of a throat, and Grizzop glanced over his shoulder. Sasha hovered in the doorway. “Hello, Sasha.”

“All right, Grizzop?” She slunk over to where he was standing, stopping an arm’s length away.

“All right.”

He could feel her looking him over, but she didn’t say anything, just sank down into the uncut grass, leaning up against the house and flipping a dagger in one hand. And for a while they stayed that way, quiet, huddled in the house’s shadow as clouds rolled in above them.

“Are you hungry?” Sasha asked, eventually.

Grizzop roused himself from where he’d sunk into a stupor against the wall. “Yeah,” he said. “That meritocrat lady gave me hardtack, but I want real food.”

“Wanna raid the kitchen?”

Grizzop felt a grin tugging at his mouth, alien after the past few days, but welcome nevertheless. “Lead the way.”

Sasha slunk through the hallways with her daggers still out; Grizzop wasn’t sure if it was for his comfort or hers, but he appreciated it. He kept his grip on his bow deliberately loose.

The kitchen was, like the rest of the house, sprawling and derelict, only one corner of it appearing to see any use. Sasha hopped up onto the counter and began rooting through cabinets, humming absently to herself and making a small pile of interesting finds. Grizzop plucked an apple from the pile and busied himself with rummaging through the ice box.

By the time Hamid and Azu entered the kitchen, Sasha had made a neat pile of goods on the kitchen table and was eating pickled onions out of the jar with a fork, and Grizzop had given up on constructing a stable sandwich and was eating the component parts of one individually. “Oh,” Azu said, as if she had been expecting to find the kitchen empty. “There you are.”

Hamid started forward for a hug and Grizzop didn’t quite stop himself from flinching; Hamid stopped short but managed to play it off easily enough. “Glad to have you back,” he said instead, though his eyes were wide and worried.

“I thought,” Azu said carefully, “that you had left with Wilde.”

Grizzop looked up. “Wilde’s gone?”

“Yes,” Azu said. “Accompanying the prisoners back to - ”

“What, _alone?”_

Azu accepted this outburst with only an arched eyebrow, her mouth twitching in what may have been an aborted smile, something sad and small. “No,” she said, reassuringly. “His meritocratic colleagues accompanied him.”

“Oh,” Grizzop said. “Well...good. That’s good.” 

* * *

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay with your team?” Laila asked as her own agents manhandled the kidnappers into a carriage. Irvin was staggering - Wilde wondered idly if there would be side effects to being strangled into unconsciousness with a cursed collar. He decided he didn’t particularly care either way.

“I think they would prefer some time to regroup in private,” Wilde said mildly. “And I am looking forward to chatting with our new guests.”

“If you insist,” Laila said doubtfully, but she made no further protests as they rode back to town.

The meritocratic offices were small, not what they would have been in Cairo or London, but they had individual anti-magic cells, and Wilde was grateful for the pretense of privacy that afforded him as he stood across from Price.

“Thought you might come visit,” Price said, leaning forward against the bars of his cell. “I have a question for you, before we start.”

Wilde regarded him with cool contempt. “Go on.”

“What would happen,” Price said, tilting his head theatrically, “if I were to let slip about what you did to that poor, helpless little goblin?”

Wilde didn’t react. “It wouldn’t save you,” he said blandly. “And I have done worse things in my line of work.”

Price smiled. “Of course,” he said. “What were you hoping to chat with me about, Mr. Wilde?”

“Your associates.” Wilde stepped forward, not quite into arm’s reach of the bars, but close. “Your customers.”

Price waved a careless hand, his expression light and mellow. “I’m sure your esteemed colleagues will have found our ledgers by now. Those will be more helpful than I intend to be.” He tilted his head forward, eyes cold and spiteful. “I don’t like liars.”

“I don’t particularly care if you like me,” Wilde replied. “How many more people have you tortured?”

Price snorted. “People? Not that many.” He lowered his voice, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. “We prefer not to work with _people.”_ (Wilde felt it, the bright spark of anger that showed on his face for half a second before he could school himself into neutrality, saw the hungry triumph on Price’s face as he scented blood.) “Oh, but you’re _fond_ of the little creature, aren’t you? Came rushing to rescue it.” He hit the T in “it” harder than necessary. “You should thank me, Mr. Wilde,” Price went on, “for giving you the opportunity to finally take what you wanted from - ”

Wilde didn’t remember moving forward, didn’t remember fisting his hands in Price’s shirt and yanking him hard against the bars. He didn’t regret it, either, looking into Price’s face and seeing his smug expression vanish with a flicker of genuine fear. Price’s hands came up to grasp at Wilde’s wrists. Wilde curled his lip in disgust and tossed Price away from him, turning on his heel and stalking back towards the door.

“You saw how it squirmed in your lap,” Price spat at Wilde’s retreating back. “I was just giving it what it was _made for.”_

Perhaps it was petty, but as he left, Wilde clicked off the lights, leaving Price in darkness.

* * *

Their rooms had been paid for already when they arrived back in town. Nothing lavish, just two connected rooms at the top floor of the inn. A fire crackled merrily in each of the hearths, and dinner had been left out for them along with a note from Wilde. _Stay as long as you need, everything will be paid for. Send word when you head out again. Regards, O.W._

Grizzop read it and reread it, irritation buzzing under his skin as he took in the lazy swoop of a signature. He couldn’t have named the source of irritation, which only served to irritate him further - he forced himself to toss the note aside, and sat simmering by the window, quiver in his lap, checking his arrows.

Wilde’s jacket still hung about his shoulders - he had pulled his arms from the sleeves and kept it draped over him while he worked, a warm, aquamarine weight. The curt note needled at him still, but the moonlight filtered in through the warped glass, and for the first time in too long, he could feel the solid presence of his goddess, steadying and unwavering and sure, and he fell into a rhythm, sorting his arrows into piles depending on whether they were serviceable or in need of repairing. It wasn’t quite meditative, but it quieted his mind. It let him sketch out the shape of a plan.

He realized there was a lull in the conversation the others had been carrying on around him. When he looked up, three pairs of eyes were trained on him. Sasha looked away first, awkward. “What?” Grizzop asked, defensive.

“We were talking about...” Hamid started. He paused, considered his word choice, and continued, “We were wondering when we would be ready leave.”

Grizzop’s stomach dropped unpleasantly. Hamid had said we, but Grizzop knew he had meant _you._ “I can keep up,” Grizzop said roughly. “We don’t have to waste time because I - ”

“That isn’t what I meant!” Hamid said, looking stricken. “It wouldn’t be a bad thing to rest a few days, Grizzop, it’s been - a rough few days - ”

“I don’t - ” Grizzop began, but Azu’s light hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“We don’t have to decide tonight,” she said. The gentleness in her voice was unbearable. “Let’s see how we feel in the morning.”

“...fine,” Grizzop said tightly. He gathered his piles of arrows, gently replacing the good ones into his quiver. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

“Grizzop...”

“I’m tired,” Grizzop said, and it wasn’t even a lie. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” (And it tugged at him, that phrase. He shoved it aside.) “We can talk in the morning.” He slipped into the other room, and it was a relief to shut the door behind him, closing himself in relative dark and silence. The fire had burned down to embers; through the door he could hear his friends’ voices pick up again, but muffled, quiet, their words indistinguishable. The room was bathed in silver moonlight. His entire body ached suddenly, as if it had caught up with him all at once. He sagged against the door, breathed slowly through his nose, and began undressing for bed.

He hopped up into the bed closest to the window and burrowed into the covers, staring at the moon for long minutes before he sighed irritably, stalked over to where he had discarded Wilde’s jacket, and wrapped it once more around himself before climbing back into bed. The silk lining of it was smooth and cool and comforting, and Grizzop tugged it up over his ears, breathed in deep, and closed his eyes.

* * *

_He doesn’t remember the dream when he wakes, but it goes like this:_

_There is a stag, silver and powerful, and it bows before him. Its antlers are sharp as death and rust-colored with the years of blood soaked into them. Grizzop touches the soft fur of its snout, and the stag huffs out a breath. “Welcome home, beloved,” whispers a voice like the wind in the trees._

_Grizzop wants to cry, to apologize, but the stag nuzzles into his belly and he folds around it, hugging it tight._

_When he wakes, his arrows are in the most pristine condition they have ever been in, better than new, their fletching stiff and perfect, each arrowhead razor-keen and the color of winter moonlight._

* * *

It was still dark when Grizzop awoke, the fire all but extinguished, the moon moved on along her path in the sky. He felt better than he had since before he had been taken - even Azu’s healing, full and warm as it was, had left lingering pain behind, but that was gone now. He felt, deep in his marrow, the urge to move. He slipped out of bed and quietly armed himself. He paused, considered Wilde’s jacket, and threw it around himself like a cloak, buttoning the top button to keep it around his shoulders.

The eastern horizon was just barely glowing when Grizzop stepped into the cool outside air. From somewhere above him, there was faint rustling; he looked up in time to see a dark shape drop from the roof of the inn, land catlike, and raise a hand in greeting. “Mornin’, Grizzop,” Sasha said.

Grizzop eased his grip on his bow one finger at a time. He nodded once in greeting.

Sasha shifted her weight from foot to foot. “You, um...going...somewhere?” she asked, her voice lifting half an octave at the end of her sentence, hesitant.

“Yeah,” Grizzop said shortly. “Want to pay some old friends a visit.”

For a moment, Grizzop wasn’t certain if Sasha was going to reply. Then, tentatively, she asked, “...Would you like some company?”

Grizzop clenched his jaw and tried not to take it as an insult. “Are you going to worry if I say no?”

“Yeah, probably,” Sasha said. “But I won’t bug you about it.”

Grizzop’s shoulders relaxed minutely. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go, then.”

* * *

Sasha lingered behind when Grizzop descended into the anti-magic cell. The meritocratic offices were surprisingly busy, given the time of day - a woman Sasha recognized from the day before had met them and offered to accompany Grizzop downstairs before he had asked, and so Sasha was waiting. She crossed her arms over her chest as an excuse to trace the shape of the daggers in her sleeves.

A door opened a little ways down the hall, and Wilde emerged, flipping through a stack of files, his hair in the sort of disarray that suggested he had spent the last hour or so running his hands through it in annoyance. He glanced up, noticed Sasha watching him, turned away, then seemed to realize who he had just noticed and started swiftly towards her. “Sasha,” he said, voice low and urgent, “what are you doing here?”

“Hey, Wilde,” Sasha said. “I came with Grizzop, cuz he wanted - ”

“Grizzop’s here?” Wilde asked, starting. His knuckles had gone white where he was gripping his paperwork; he didn’t seem to notice he had crumpled it around the edges. “Where? Why?”

“Talking to...” She trailed off, gestured at the stairway down to the jail. “I’m keeping him company. Well, I was. Figured he’d want to talk to them alone.”

Wilde let out a breath and ran his hand through his hair. “All right,” he said. “All right, that’s - fine.” (It did not, to Sasha’s ears, sound fine.) “Tell him...” Wilde trailed off, glanced down the stairway. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“Are you working on this case now?” Sasha asked.

“What?”

She gestured at the files he had crumpled in his hand. Wilde noticed their state for the first time and tried to smooth them out. “With the. You know. Cuz the lady from before said she was gonna take over, but you’ve been here, and reading paperwork, and not sleeping. Again.”

Wilde smoothed the paper in his hands again, pointlessly. “One of my people was kidnapped, Sasha,” he said. “Of course I’ve taken an interest in seeing justice done.”

“Yeah,” Sasha said doubtfully, “but - ”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Sasha said bluntly. “Every time you say that it means you’re not fine. Last time your brain popped.”

“That isn’t what happened,” Wilde grumbled.

Sasha shrugged. “I dunno what happened while you were in there alone,” she said. “But it was probably bad. Guys like them, it’s...it’s always bad.” Wilde glanced away, frowning at the floorboards, and nodded once, almost imperceptibly. “Sorry,” Sasha said. “That everything went wrong.”

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Wilde said. “They knew they were being watched, they fed us bad intel on purpose.”

“So then it wasn’t your fault either,” Sasha said.

Wilde looked for a moment as if he might argue, then glanced towards the staircase, suddenly stricken. Sasha followed his gaze; Grizzop was ascending the stairs, eyes burning, mouth fixed in a grim, triumphant grin. When she turned again, Wilde was gone.

* * *

Irvin was awake and waiting when Grizzop entered the room, sitting against the wall across from the bars of his cell. “They tell you I was coming?” Grizzop asked. He stopped well out of reach of the cell, leaning on his bow.

“No,” Irvin replied. He glowered at Grizzop, face mostly in shadow. “Figured you might miss me, though.” He grinned like a skull. “You liked having someone treat you right, molerat?”

“Call me that again and I’ll put an arrow in you,” Grizzop snapped. “Tell me about the box.”

Irvin snorted. “What _about_ the box?” he asked.

“Who you put in it,” Grizzop ground out. “Their names.”

Irvin leaned forward. “Never cared about their _names,”_ he said. “Don’t know your _name.”_

Grizzop glared. “I’m a paladin of Artemis,” he said. “Right now you’re being kept in a meritocratic prison, but that could change, if I wanted it to. If I went to a temple and told them what you are, what you _did,_ they would petition to have you released into their custody, and they would kill you.”

Some of the smug disdain slipped from Irvin’s features. “What’s your point?” he asked flatly.

“Tell me everything you remember,” Grizzop said. “About every person who went through your basement. What they looked like, who you sold them to, everything. Or I’ll execute you myself and let the vultures have you.”

Irvin let out a long, slow breath, but Grizzop knew he wouldn’t argue. He knew men like Irvin. He knew they were cowards. And he knew Irvin was enough of a sadist to remember the faces of every one of his victims, if not their names.

“Fine,” Irvin said, and Grizzop smiled like a sickle.

* * *

By the time the sun had risen enough for it to reasonably be considered morning, the list Grizzop had assembled circulated around the meritocratic office, and Laila had assured him she would get it into the hands of anyone in the area who could help, the Cult of Artemis included. When Grizzop and Sasha returned to the inn, Azu was by the fireplace, scanning a newspaper. She glanced up when they entered the room, and lifted her eyebrows as if she hadn’t known they were gone, but she didn’t remark on it. “Good morning,” she said instead. “They ran a story about the arrests.” She handed over the page before Grizzop had to ask for it. “Nothing about us,” she said. “I believe Wilde is to thank for that.”

Sasha scanned the story over Grizzop’s shoulder. It lingered voyeuristically on the nightmarish dungeon discovered in the basement, described Price and Irvin in breathless detail, fell over itself to fawn over the still-bleeding cuts on Wilde’s neck as he gave a curt statement. But it didn’t mention any of them, even in passing. “Did anyone heal him?” Grizzop asked suddenly.

“Huh?”

“Wilde. He...I was just wondering if he let anyone fix him up.” He shook his head. “Never mind. Where’s Hamid?”

“Sleeping in, I think,” Azu said. “Unless he’s snuck off as well and I was the only one here all night.”

_“I_ didn’t sneak,” Grizzop said. “I went out the front door.” He looked at Sasha, who shrugged and didn’t bother defending herself.

“I was thinking of going into town for supplies,” Azu said, folding up her half of the newspaper. “If anyone is interested in joining me.”

It was an offer, spoken mildly, with no expectation of compliance. Still, it felt weighty, and Grizzop nodded before he could second guess himself. “I’ll come,” he said.

Sasha stayed behind, curling into an armchair by the fire and, Grizzop suspected, dozing off before they reached the street. Azu hummed as she stepped into the sunlight. “Good day for a walk,” she said, and headed towards town.

They walked in silence, Azu slowing her pace to match Grizzop’s smaller strides, but Azu’s silence was heavier than Sasha’s, weighted down by whatever she intended to say when she finally broke it. Grizzop was content to let her think it over. When she did speak, it wasn’t what he had been expecting. “I prayed,” she said, “before we came for you.”

Grizzop glanced up at her, eyebrows raising. “Of course you did,” he said. “You’re a paladin, and a good one.”

Azu smiled at that. “To Lady Artemis,” she clarified.

Grizzop stopped for a beat, then hurried to catch up. “Did it...work?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” Azu said. “Perhaps in some roundabout way.”

“Artemis isn’t the roundabout type,” Grizzop said doubtfully. “Thank you,” he added.

“Of course.”

They fell back into quiet.   
Azu knew, more than the others - more than anyone except Wilde - what had happened. She had healed him, her hands gentle, her eyes dark with sadness and a tightly reigned-in fury. “Azu,” Grizzop said, then stopped, gnawing on his lip. He could feel the weight of her gaze on him. “Your lot,” he said. “Aphrodite. Th-they...deal with...this sort of...” He let out a frustrated noise. “You have rules, don’t you? About what...what they did?”

Even without looking at her, her change in posture was obvious. Her spine went rigid. “We do,” she said. “Surely Artemis...?”

“Shoot ‘em,” Grizzop said flatly. “Same as anything...unforgivable.”

“I see.” Azu paused; ahead of them, the town center was starting to come into view. She looked down at Grizzop. “On that, we seem to be in agreement,” she said. “But my order focuses more on the wronged party than on the perpetrator.” There was a stretch of silence, growing thinner by the second until it snapped. “You should talk to Wilde,” Azu said, painfully gently.

Grizzop touched the brass button clasped at his throat. “What did you want to buy?” he asked, and brushed past her towards the market.

* * *

Hamid found Sasha napping by the fire and nudged the embers back into life for her. “Thanks,” she mumbled, without opening her eyes. “Grizzop and Azu went out.”

“I thought so.” Hamid hesitated. “Is he...is he all right?”

Sasha shrugged. “I dunno,” she said uneasily. “Like, it wasn’t good, right? He’s mostly himself, but...” She shrugged again, sank deeper into the armchair. “Are we gonna leave today?” she asked, changing the subject so transparently that Hamid had to admire it.

“No,” he said. “I’d like to talk to Wilde, I think, maybe figure out a plan of action...”

“Good luck,” Sasha grumbled. “He’s being weird again.”

“Weird?”

“You know, when he gets all like” - she pitched her voice low and posh - “‘Wilde is fine, stop asking,’ and then goes off and pops his brain and we gotta save him.”

_“Is_ his brain going to pop?” Hamid asked doubtfully.

“I dunno,” Sasha said. “You do all the magicky stuff. Hey, if you do talk to him, maybe you could let us know if he’s gonna pop?”

Hamid considered this for a moment, frowning into the flickering fire. Brains, as far as he knew, were not in the habit of popping. Certainly not more than once. Then again, he hadn’t been there when Grizzop had found Wilde, face-down on his office floor and bleeding from the face. He shuddered. “Yes,” he finally said, “I’ll try to keep an eye out for anything that looks like it’s about to pop.”

Sasha had fallen back asleep when Hamid left for the meritocratic offices. He considered what she had told him as he knocked on Wilde’s office door. Wilde was immaculate when he answered, and Hamid examined his face closely, looking for any cracks in the carefully constructed mask he wore. “Good morning, Hamid,” Wilde said, and stepped aside politely to let him in. Wilde, Hamid realized when he swept past him back towards his desk, hadn’t changed since the day before. There were bloodstains on his collar that he had missed when he’d prestidigitated himself presentable. “What can I help you with?”

“Well,” Hamid said carefully, “I was going to ask you the same thing.” Wilde frowned, but gestured for him to continue. “Surely there’s follow-up to be done,” Hamid said, stopping just shy of making it a question. “I wanted to ask if there’s anything we - ”

“No.” Wilde’s expression had been a mask before, but it closed off completely now. “Laila and her team are more than capable of handling any follow-up.”

“Is that why you haven’t slept since yesterday?” Hamid asked. “You missed a spot, by the way.” He gestured at the back of his neck; Wilde clapped a palm over the spot and grimaced. “If you wanted to give the case back to Laila, that would be fair,” Hamid said, “but if you aren’t, then let us help you. We were there, Oscar, we could be useful. Grizzop - ”

“Grizzop has done enough,” Wilde said sharply, then glanced away. “You have all done enough. Laila and her team will take care of follow-up.”

“And you?” Hamid asked.

“I,” Wilde began, then sighed heavily. “I will be fine,” he said, and continued quickly, before Hamid could interrupt. “I have reports to make about what happened, but I will cede all the rest to Laila.”

Hamid eyed Wilde doubtfully, but made no argument. “And then?” he asked instead.

“We continue as planned,” Wilde said. “Whenever your team is ready.”

“Will you be coming with us, then?” Hamid asked. When Wilde only looked at him blankly, he pressed on, “The plan was for you to meet up with us in a few days. Given everything that’s happened, wouldn’t it make more sense if we left together?”

Wilde opened his mouth and not a sound emerged. “I...suppose,” he said eventually, sounding deeply irritated by the logic of it. “Yes. Fine. I will...meet you in a day or two.”

“Excellent,” Hamid said. He hesitated. There was little point in asking if Wilde were all right - he knew the answer he’d get. Still. “If there’s anything you need help with, you know where to find me,” he said, and left before Wilde could reply.

* * *

Grizzop couldn’t stand to be at the inn. Impatience gnawed at him, and knowing there was another day, maybe two, of _nothing,_ of _waiting,_ when he could be doing something - it made his teeth itch. He had retreated to the courtyard for target practice hours ago, and the others had come and gone in shifts, acting as if they weren’t there to keep an eye on him with varying degrees of plausible deniability.

The second time Hamid wandered into the courtyard, Grizzop had gathered his arrows. “Going for a walk,” he said, brushing past Hamid before he had the time to register the change of plan.

“Oh - oh! I’ll come with - ”

“I would rather you didn’t.” Grizzop didn’t have to look to sense the look of hurt that crossed Hamid’s features. “Just need some time alone,” he said, forcing his voice into something gentle and understanding.

“Of course,” Hamid said. “If...if you’re sure, then...”

_I can take care of myself!_ Grizzop wanted to scream. He didn’t. “I’ll be fine,” he said instead, and didn’t look back as he left.

He wanted to pretend he didn’t know where he was going, but it was a flimsy lie, and he abandoned it long before he reached the meritocratic offices. Laila was in the entry hall when he arrived; if she was surprised to see him again so soon, she hid it well. “It’s good to see you again, Grizzop,” she said. “I wanted to thank you again for the list you put together. Did you want to speak with - ”

“Wilde,” Grizzop said bluntly. “Is he around? I have to talk to him.”

“He shouldn’t be,” Laila said.

“That,” Grizzop said, “in no way answers my question.”

Laila let out a resigned hum. “No,” she said, “I suppose not. I’ll take you to his office.”

Wilde wasn’t splayed out in a pool of his own blood when they reached his office, which was a good sign, in Grizzop’s book, though the fact that it was a good sign was likely a bad sign in and of itself. He did, however, stare at Grizzop in poorly masked terror, which Laila politely ignored and Grizzop met with a hard stare.

“You told me you were leaving, Oscar,” Laila said mildly.

“I was,” Wilde said, finally managing to tear his eyes away from Grizzop. “Is something wrong?”

“We need to talk,” Grizzop said. His heart hammered somewhere in his throat, adrenaline soaking into his bloodstream as if he were on a hunt. Or being hunted. One of the two. Wilde’s eyes met his again.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Laila said, and backed out of the room, the door snicking closed behind her.

The silence between them was a sighted deer, skittish, too terrified to bolt just yet. Grizzop let out a slow breath, and it thundered away into the underbrush.

“I owe you an apology,” Wilde said. His voice, impressively, did not shake. He leaned against his desk, casual but for where his hands were white-knuckled at its edge. “I - ”

“I know a ruse when I see one, Wilde,” Grizzop muttered. Somehow the thought of Wilde apologizing filled him with a sickly kind of horror, something pale and bloated behind his lungs, the tendrils of it infecting his organs and bone structure. “I got what you were doing.”

“Still,” Wilde said, voice barely a whisper. He cleared his throat but didn’t speak again, his eyes wandering away from Grizzop’s eyes to his nose, then his chest, then his feet. “Still.”

Grizzop touched the sleeve of Wilde’s absurd jacket, still draped over his shoulders. “Sleep with me,” he said.

Wilde made a noise like a startled dove. “I’m - _sorry?”_

“I don’t want that to be how...” _How you think of me. How I think of you._ “How we leave things.” Grizzop tilted his chin, daring Wilde to object. “So? You in?”

Wilde eyed him warily, fingers flexing against the wood of his desk. He licked his lips. “If...if that’s what you want,” he said. He didn’t move.

Grizzop strode forward with more confidence than he felt, hoisting himself up onto the chair in front of Wilde’s desk and standing on tiptoe to curl his hands in Wilde’s shirt and yank him down for a sharp bite of a kiss. Wilde made a muffled noise into his mouth; his hands hovered for a moment around Grizzop’s face, then curled tightly around the arms of the chair he was on, and Wilde went down on one knee so that their faces were level.

Wilde kissed passively, parting his lips when Grizzop licked them, tilting his head as Grizzop nudged him, never pressing forward, never releasing his death grip on the chair’s armrests. When Grizzop pulled back, Wilde sighed softly but didn’t chase after him, let Grizzop’s lips leave his without even the most token struggle. “Do you want to do this here?” he asked, eyes lowered, voice soft and undemanding.

“You have somewhere else?” Grizzop asked. He smoothed out the wrinkles he’d made where he had gripped Wilde’s shirt, just to have somewhere to direct to buzzing energy sparking along his nervous system.

“No,” Wilde said after a pause. “I suppose not.”

“Then here’s fine,” Grizzop said shortly, and tugged him close again. Grizzop sat, tossing one leg over Wilde’s shoulder and urging him closer, closer, until he had to let go of the armrests and fell forward onto his forearms, bracketing Grizzop’s body but still refusing to touch him.

“How,” Wilde murmured. His breathing was slow and heavy and controlled. “How do you want me?”

“Just touch me,” Grizzop growled, fingers flexing, a strangled note of pleading in his face if not his voice. “I’m not made of glass, dammit, just _touch me.”_

Wilde touched the tips of his fingers to Grizzop’s waist, the softest tease of pressure, sweeping up his back and then down again, tracing along his thighs, his thumbs coming to rest in the dips of Grizzop’s hips. Wilde bowed his head and pressed a kiss to the strip of skin where Grizzop’s shirt had ridden up. “Let me,” he breathed. He watched Grizzop through his lashes as he loosened the ties of his leathers, easing them down over his hips. He ran a fingertip along the underside of Grizzop’s cock, which stirred with interest as Wilde pressed a painfully gentle kiss to the head of it.

Grizzop let out a long, shaking breath and kept his eyes locked on Wilde as Wilde took him in his mouth. He could have swallowed him whole, Grizzop was sure - Grizzop was under no delusions as to their respective sizes, and he was still only half hard - but Wilde was methodical, almost delicate, one hand curling around the base of Grizzop’s cock while the other came up to steady him, fingertips resting against his back. Wilde’s tongue was flat and soft as he ran it over the head of Grizzop’s prick, his lips hot and dry as they closed around him.

Wilde was slow and careful and Grizzop was half-afraid to move; he sank both hands into Wilde’s hair and clung to him. He watched - he had to watch - didn’t want to risk tilting his head back, taking his eyes off Wilde. He held his breath without noticing, an inhale held behind his clenched teeth, his muscles going rigid with it. Wilde’s hand was broad and warm on his back.

Grizzop’s breath left him in one rough sound as Wilde did something complicated with his tongue; his leg twitched where it was tossed over Wilde’s shoulders. Grizzop bit hard at his lip to keep from rolling his hips into the wet heat of Wilde’s mouth, his hands flexing in Wilde’s hair. He was shaking, he knew he was shaking, could feel it in every tendon pulled taut, every line of his arched back, and couldn’t making himself stop. Wilde pulled back and murmured “Grizzop,” against his hip and, panicked, Grizzop arched up against his face.

“Don’t stop,” he whispered, voice strained. “Don’t, please - ”

This time Wilde did swallow him, his throat tight and hot and Grizzop let out a hysterical laugh as he came, curling around Wilde’s head and burying his face in his hair, inhaling the scent of him, eyes wide open and staring down the back of his neck like it were the horizon.

Wilde detangled himself gently, keeping his eyes lowered, and Grizzop almost protested at the loss of his hand against his back, but stopped himself at the last second. “Wilde,” he said instead, then paused, cast about for something he could say without his voice betraying the knot of emotion threatening to choke him. “Do you - ”

“No,” Wilde said, too quickly. “No. I’m...perfectly happy to have...taken care of you.” The forced formality of his tone had cracks running through it; Grizzop could have poked at them and the whole facade would have crumbled. He didn’t. “I hope I was helpful.”

“I...” Grizzop ran a hand over the armrests that Wilde had clung to, tracing the wood grain with his fingers, thinking of scratch marks. “Yeah,” he said miserably. “Thanks.”

* * *

Wilde was both eager to leave this miserable town behind and reluctant to meet up with his agents any sooner than he had to, and possibly ever again. But he could only take so long to write his report - abridged, somewhat, for propriety’s sake. For Grizzop’s sake. He arrived at the inn just after lunch the next day, unsurprised to see the others were already gathered in the courtyard. Wilde greeted them with a curt nod.

“It’s a day and a half to where we can meet my contact,” Wilde said. “Assuming he is still trustworthy, he should be able to secure our passage to Japan.”

Hamid arched an eyebrow. “Assuming he’s trustworthy?” he asked.

Wilde’s jaw tightened and twitched. “Yes,” he said curtly. “It’s...difficult, these days, knowing who among my colleagues is safe to speak freely with.”

“Cuz of what Barret said,” Sasha said, not quite a question.

“Yes.”

“And the people here - ” Grizzop began, his eyes narrowing.

“Trustworthy,” Wilde said, though he couldn’t meet Grizzop’s eyes as he said it. “This place is backwater enough not to attract much attention from...unwanted sources.” He paused. “And,” he added eventually, “I’ve sent word to the temples in the area. Just in case.”

There was a brief silence, almost awkward, before Hamid cleared his throat. “Well,” he said. “Best get going, then.”

* * *

It would have been quicker to take a carriage, of course, but the idea was to skip town without being noticed, so they went on foot. They stuck close together, kept Wilde boxed in as they walked; he wasn’t sure if it was a conscious act or simply them doing their best to contain an unknown variable in their midst. He didn’t ask. He wondered, too, if they were always so solemnly silent as they traveled, or if it was his presence that made them that way, or if the events of the last few days had taken a toll on them. He didn’t ask about that, either.

When it was time to make camp, they drew straws to determine the watch order, and Wilde felt a sense of bland resignation when his watch came directly before Grizzop’s.

Grizzop’s watch was to be the last, and as Wilde’s own shift drew to a close, he considered not waking Grizzop at all, letting him sleep through to morning. He poked at the fire, brought it back up to a gentle crackle. It would likely irritate Grizzop, but Wilde didn’t foresee himself getting much sleep anyway, and Grizzop could use the rest, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

It didn’t matter, in the end. Grizzop sat across from him at the fire five minutes before Wilde would have had to wake him. “Get some rest,” he said; he didn’t sound as if he had just roused himself from sleep. “Early start tomorrow.”

Wilde watched him for a moment, caught between the black of night and the orange firelight, his already sharp features made razor-keen by the starkness of the shadows playing over them, his eyes half-lidded and luminous. He was, Wilde realized, wearing his jacket around his shoulders like a blanket. Even in the dark, the bright blue stood out in contrast to the earthy tones of Grizzop’s armor, and Wilde’s throat went tight. He stood without a word and retreated to his bedroll, his heart high in his chest, threatening to beat itself free of his ribcage.

* * *

Something was wrong.

Grizzop watched from the hidden vantage point as Wilde approached his contact, a thin, nervous-looking man who hadn’t stopped moving since Grizzop had laid eyes on him. “Something’s not right,” Grizzop muttered aloud.

“Wilde hasn’t given the signal,” Azu said softly, but she had her axe out and ready nonetheless.

“Should’ve called Einstein,” Sasha mumbled.

“I don’t think - ” Hamid started, but then there was a cry.

Wilde’s contact had gone stiff, frozen in an awkward position; Wilde, bent double, had one hand outstretched towards him, the other pressed to his cheek. Around him, figures in dark cloaks had started to materialize.

Grizzop burst from his hiding spot and bolted towards them.

* * *

Wilde was getting very deeply sick of getting sucker punched. He snarled, flinging out one hand to cast hold person; the telltale sound of teleportation rang out around him, again, again. A hysterical laugh bubbled up in his chest - taking his cuffs off meant he could fight back against his one traitorous colleague, but it also meant he had allowed himself to be tracked. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ He looked up just in time to see the squizard closest to him tumble over backwards, pin-cushioned with arrows. He staggered backwards just as Sasha bolted past him, daggers flashing, and a small hand fisted in his shirt and threw him backwards. Wilde landed hard on his back, and looked up to see Grizzop planted between him and the squizards, bow drawn, mouth curled in a snarl. _“Call Einstein!”_ Grizzop snapped, and loosed another slew of arrows into the growing swarm of squizards.

Wilde registered that name and filed his shock away to process later. “No!” he yelled, scrambling to his feet. “Get away from them first!”

At his side, Hamid fired off three bright bolts of power, sending another squizard to the ground, before holding up a mobile stone and yelling into it. “Einstein, are you there?!”

Wilde flung out a hand; a squizard froze in place and Azu cut it down before backing towards the main group. “We should run,” she said.

“We need to go _now - ”_

_“No don’t come here yet!”_

There was the pop of a new teleportation spell, and Wilde grabbed Einstein’s arm as he appeared next to him. “RUN!” he roared, and dragged Einstein away from the encroaching horde. He glanced over his shoulder; Sasha flipped over Azu’s head and bolted, grabbing Hamid’s hand, while Azu and Grizzop held off what they could before running as well.

Einstein was yelling at him, though making no move to break free of his grasp. “What are you doing here? How do you know them??”

“They _work_ for me!” Wilde snapped. “How do _you_ know them?”

“Just keep running!” Hamid cried, tossing a crackling beam of fire over his shoulder without looking. “We’ll explain later!”

“Where do you need to go?!” Einstein asked. “Hurry up and tell me or I’ll leave you all behind!”

“Anywhere!” Sasha replied. “Not here!”

“All right, fine, I can do that!”

Einstein stopped; Wilde spun on his heel, doing a frantic headcount. They were there, all of them, a little battered but _there,_ huddling close around Einstein so he could get them to safety and everything would be -

His contact had broken free of the hold Wilde had put him in and was taking aim with a crossbow. Wilde felt the tug of teleportation magic on him. The bolt fired.

_“Grizzop, move!”_

The world tilted madly on its axis; pain erupted in Wilde’s side; Grizzop cried out in fury. Then everything went white, and they were gone.

* * *

Grizzop hit hard-baked sand, then felt dead weight land on top of him and spat a string of curses. “Wilde - _Wilde!”_

He scrambled out from beneath Wilde’s _(not body not body dammit)_ weight, shoving him onto his back as he did. He was breathing, quick and labored, eyes screwed shut in pain. A bright bloom of blood was slowly staining his shirt. “Hold still,” Grizzop snapped, and dug his fingers into the wound in Wilde’s side to pop the crossbow bolt out. Wilde screamed, arching up off the sand. “Well don’t go getting yourself shot next time!” Grizzop said frantically, then spat in his palm, clapped his hand over the wound, and muttered a quick prayer.

Wilde sagged back to the ground, panting, eyes opening wearily. “You’re all right?” he croaked, and Grizzop snapped.

_“Me?”_ he shrieked. “Why did you _do_ that?”

“Well,” Wilde said flatly, “I’d never been shot before and it seemed like a good life experience - ”

“I refuse to believe nobody’s ever shot you,” Grizzop hissed. “I would have been _fine - ”_

“Is it so difficult to believe I didn’t want to see you get hurt because of me, again?” Wilde asked sharply. He sat up, pressing a hand to the bloodstain on his shirt. “Grizzop - ”

“You shouldn’t be taking hits for me!” Grizzop cried, fists clenched tight at his sides, ears quivering with anger. “I don’t need protecting! I’m not _weak!”_

“For gods’ sakes, of course you’re not! Maybe I _am!”_ Wilde snarled. Grizzop’s jaw clicked shut; Wilde ran both hands through his hair. “I couldn’t - I couldn’t watch you get hurt. Not again. Not when you were there on my word. I - I told you it was safe.”

“We don’t get to be safe,” Grizzop said, but some of the anger had leeched from him. He sat down in the sand next to Wilde.

“I’m sorry,” Wilde muttered, pressing a hand to his eyes. “For everything. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It was my fault for not - ”

“Don’t.” Wilde’s voice was strained. “Please.” He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to.

Grizzop sighed, examined the crossbow bolt in his palm before tossing it aside. “Dunno what happened to the others,” he said, glancing around at the vast expanse of wasteland they were sat in the middle of.

“Hopefully they’re together,” Wilde muttered.

For a moment they sat in silence, side by side, neither daring to look at the other. “Look,” Grizzop finally said. “Do you trust me?”

Wilde glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “Of course.”

“Ok, good. I trust you, too. I trust you to do your job and not send me into danger without telling me what kind of danger it will be, right? And you have to trust me to take that seriously. And sometimes I’ll get hurt. But it won’t be your fault, as long as you talk to me.”

Wilde let out a faint huff of a laugh, humorless. “All right,” he whispered. “Deal.” There was a brief pause. “Unless we die in the desert.”

“Unless we die in the desert,” Grizzop agreed. He glanced up at Wilde, took in the downward cast of his eyes, weighed his options. Made a decision. “Wanna make out?”

Wilde jolted, looking down at Grizzop with wide eyes. “Excuse me?”

“That’s where this was going, wasn’t it?” Grizzop asked. He stood so his face was roughly even with Wilde’s. “I know you flirt with everyone,” he said, taking half a step forward, not quite reaching for him. “But I kinda thought I was special.”

Wilde blinked at him. “I,” he said. Stopped. Glanced down at Grizzop’s mouth. “Hm.”

Slowly, carefully, like Wilde might shatter if handled too roughly, Grizzop cupped the curve of his jaw. Wilde watched him for a moment, then turned and pressed a kiss into his palm, so heartbreakingly tender and soft that Grizzop felt it swelling somewhere in his ribcage, spring’s first flowerbud exploding into bloom. “Can I...”

“Yes.”

Grizzop brushed their lips together, and Wilde sighed like a century of stress was melting from his shoulders, shifting so he could slide his own hand up over Grizzop’s. “I wanted - ” Grizzop mumbled against Wilde’s mouth.

“I know.”

“Don’t stop.”

Wilde’s knuckles brushed along Grizzop’s jaw before his hand splayed out to cup his cheek; his free hand wound around Grizzop’s waist, pulling him close, loosely enough that Grizzop could break free if he wanted. He couldn’t imagine wanting that. Couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere but here, with Wilde’s face between his palms, Wilde’s arms looped around him, Wilde’s irritating mouth for once quiet and useful and pliant beneath his own. “This,” Grizzop said, “is definitely the most fun way to shut you up.”

Wilde laughed and it was genuine, low and warm as it vibrated against Grizzop’s lips. “There are other ways,” he said. “I’ll show you, if we survive.” He pulled back, just slightly, and Grizzop huffed. Wilde leaned forward to touch their foreheads together. “Grizzop - ”

“I FOUND THEM!”

Grizzop jumped, looking towards the source of the shout to see Sasha at the top of a nearby dune, waving frantically with both hands. Grizzop waved back, blushing faintly to be found wrapped around Wilde, but he didn’t have it in him to pull away. He felt Wilde lift one hand in greeting; the other stayed firmly at Grizzop’s waist, solid and comforting. “Talk later?” Grizzop asked, watching as Azu, Hamid, and Einstein crested the hill with varying degrees of windedness.

Wilde squeezed his hip. “Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this back in April thinking I'd bang out maybe 5k words in a week and have a nice little PWP. Ha. HA I say.


End file.
